


Someone to Stay

by cuteandtwisted



Series: In Every Universe [23]
Category: SKAM (Norway), SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Even rarely smiles but Isak makes him want to smile all the time, Isak is big sad, M/M, Romeo and Juliet AU ish, Strangers to Lovers, They love each other sm, coworkers but only for a bit, star crossed lovers, two broken people mending each other's heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25122292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuteandtwisted/pseuds/cuteandtwisted
Summary: "Isak wonders what color is in Even's eyes. He wonders how someone seemingly so cold can have such warm hands. How someone who won't even look him in the eyes can be so comforting."Isak and Even are both very quiet, very detached, very lonely, and very broken when they first meet while working at a restaurant. They don't talk a lot, but they develop an odd friendship that nobody understands.As Isak's feelings deepen for the boy who never smiles and bloom into intense and unconditional love, he realizes they might be more connected than he thinks.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Series: In Every Universe [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/630011
Comments: 406
Kudos: 1079





	1. What color's in your eyes?

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know that 23 is my lucky number?
> 
> Honestly, I don't know what I'm doing/what this is/if any of you are still around/if anyone will read this. but i've been absolutely miserable lately and just needed to channel some of my hopelessness/rage into a creative outlet. 
> 
> i miss them. i rewatch s3 every month. *hugs*

His name is Even, Isak learns that night. 

Not that he was trying to find out. He just happened to overhear it on his way out of the kitchen carrying a plate of Tagliatelle Stroganoff and Crawfish tails gratin. 

The name revelation was so startling -- he’d convinced himself he’d never find out -- that he nearly tripped on the expensive carpet. He could almost picture the mess, pasta and seafood spatter on the beige carpet, and the immense guilt that would follow. 

Thankfully, he does not fall and successfully completes his trip to the patron’s table, depositing the food and adding a perfunctory nod and smile. 

He finds the girls giggling back in the kitchen. Part of him wonders if they’re laughing at his expense, but he does not engage. He never engages. 

.

_Even._

Isak mulls the name over quietly on his way home. It’s starting to get cold and crisp. Perhaps he should stop his longer walks back from work and just take the bus now that it’s October. 

He doesn’t say the name out loud. It feels too juvenile, too childish. But he still thinks about it. 

It occupies much of his thoughts that night. 

Not that he has anything else to think about.

He goes to bed after an episode of BoJack Horseman.

.

Work is alright. It’s repetitive, boring, but it’s alright. It pays the bills and he counts his blessings for miraculously securing a job at such a nice restaurant while being able to balance school work as well.

Isak is swift and detached. He fulfills orders and never takes anything personally. He doesn’t get bothered or phased by rude customers. He makes up stories for them to justify their rudeness on his way home if the incident is particularly noteworthy. He’s had years of practice being verbally and unnecessarily taunted after all. At least these are strangers. Strangers could never get under his skin. 

Except maybe the part-time back-of-house worker who’s been parading as a mystery for a few months now. 

Even is his name. He’s learned at last. 

Isak wonders how his fellow waitresses managed to find that out. The guy doesn’t wear a name tag or a uniform after all, nor does he speak to or spare anyone a glance. 

Isak doesn’t remember when he first took notice of him. All long limbs, unruly hair that covers his eyes, crumpled band t-shirts that do not comply with the restaurant’s uniform, excessive wristbands, and overwhelming but unapproachable presence. Isak had been the tallest one among the staff until he showed up, unannounced. He just suddenly appeared in their kitchen without ever being introduced or bothering to introduce himself. 

Granted, he mostly clocked in the evenings to carry inventory into the supply room or to clean before everyone else went home. But still. He felt misplaced, almost forced into their space. Isak couldn’t figure out what his job responsibilities were. It seemed that he was tasked with doing everything that didn’t require interacting with another person. 

Isak had once seen him pre-washing dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. It felt absurd back then, that a young man this attractive was stuck in the kitchen instead of charming drunk customers into ordering more pricey cocktails and leaving generous tips. 

But this guy, Even, was probably better off in the back. He never smiled or uttered any words. He always had worn out and tangled earphones on, as if wishing to block out the outside world by any means necessary. Isak often wondered if he had any music playing at all or if it was just an accessory that guaranteed that no one would try to strike a conversation. 

Maybe it was the latter. The girls, Cecilie, Emma, and Mette had tried their luck before, while Isak stood in the back and watched Even barely remove one of his headphones to mutter a monosyllabic rejection without ever locking eyes with them. Isak couldn’t hear his voice as he was positioned further away in the changing room, but he’d seen their disappointment. 

“He’s so fucking rude!” the girls had exclaimed. “I hate guys who think they’re hot shit like that. We’re coworkers. The least he could do is be a little bit nice.” 

Isak would have cracked a smile if the description didn’t apply to him as well, if he weren’t so busy feeling bitter and detached himself. 

The thing is, Isak barely smiles either. He doesn’t reject happy hours with coworkers with a harsh “no”, but he never says yes either. He always makes up semi polite excuses, gives them the same perfunctory nod and half smile he gives customers, then heads home. 

Perhaps it’s the reason he’s so fascinated with the most recent addition to the staff. The guy who managed to out-”rude” him. The guy who’s taller than him, meaner than him, more attractive than him, and overall more mysterious than him. 

.

Isak drags himself to the shower most mornings. Mornings have been a challenge since he moved out, so a cold shower always helps him clear out his mind and make sense of his surroundings. Sometimes it’s a warm shower. Sometimes hot, sometimes scalding. He regrets the latter ones almost instantly, but they always pull him out of his funk. 

His funk. This is what most things always come down to. His funk and the fact that he needs to constantly find new ways to get himself out of his funk. To force himself to take a shower, brush his teeth, put on clothes, go to school, go to the library to do homework, then go to work for the evening. 

Isak is almost grateful that he has a long-term goal to crawl towards. He can’t wait to finish high school, get into NTNU in Trondheim, and then eventually leave the country altogether. 

At least he’s managed to leave Oslo, he tells himself most nights. But the two hours separating Lillehammer from the capital don’t feel nearly enough. It’s only a matter of time before someone comes looking for him.

The mere thought leaves his chest tight with dread. His worst nightmare, someone showing up to school or to work and bursting his bubble, his facade of a semi cool guy who doesn’t like to talk much. 

Jonas is probably on his way. He’s left too many clues. 

Isak checks his deactivated social media accounts one more time to make sure they’re disabled. He tries not to, but ends up making his way to his friends’ instagram accounts. 

It stings a bit, seeing toothy smiles, dimples, and crinkles. Seeing how life hasn’t stopped for them at all, the way it did for him. 

His thumb hovers over another account for a little while. He’s feeling more self-destructive than usual tonight.

Just a glance, he tells himself. Just a minute. 

He scrolls down the profile. It feels like a memento, a shrine suspended in time. Memorabilia verging on anachronism, but the other way around. Maybe. 

His thoughts don’t make any sense. He thought he’d cry this time, but he doesn’t. They say that numbness goes away after a while, but it’s been months. 

It’s just his reality now. 

Isak watches two episodes of BoJack Horseman, then goes to sleep. 

.

His fascination with the new guy eventually subdues, just like everything else he forces himself to hold onto to feign a sense of normalcy. He barely sees him anymore, barely notices him. It’s getting colder and busier at school, so he doesn’t have the energy to actively scan human faces and silhouettes. 

Isak wonders for a moment if he’d have reacted differently to back-of-house guy if he’d met him at Nissen the previous year instead. Perhaps he’d have looked longer, stared harder, felt a thing or two. Perhaps he would have developed a crush and longed for him. 

This Even guy _was_ attractive after all. He had the brooding silent tall stereotype working for him. But the thing with Isak’s “funk” is that it took away even that. His ability to pine and want and yearn. _Perhaps if he smiled._

He hears a rumor on a cold night in November that Even has a criminal record. Girls _and_ boys now gossiping in the break room. They question his credentials, wonder how he got this job and whether their manager missed it during the interview process.

Isak walks away, uninterested in mindless gossip. On his way out, he notices Even hunched over the sink not too far from the break room, his earphones on, his posture oddly somewhere between relaxed and bothered. Isak wonders if he overheard his coworkers spreading nonsense in the back. 

He wants to say something, but realizes that he’s never said a word to this person, that desultory empathy would sound just that: desultory. That he doesn’t even know what his voice sounds like. _Is it deep? Is it high-pitched? Does he speak fast or slow?_

Isak is about to turn away and carry on minding his own business when Even finally speaks for what feels like the first time ever. 

“Wanna smoke?” 

Isak turns around, slightly taken aback by the depth and timber of his voice. Even is still not facing him, still not looking at him. Isak finds himself looking around the kitchen to see if Even’s invitation was extended to someone else. 

“What?” 

Even simply unties his apron and gestures with his index finger for Isak to follow him to the back. 

Isak doesn’t know what prompts him to comply, but he does. 

It’s freezing outside, he quickly observes. But the strange turn of events, him following “mysterious back-of-house guy” outside, gives him another sense to focus on. 

Neither speaks. They sit on a cold and wet stool while Even fishes out what looks like a joint from his jeans pockets. Isak would otherwise laugh or snort at the brazenness, if it weren’t for the numbness, for the “funk”. He always finds himself missing his older self at the most incongruous moments. 

Even seems unaware of his inner monologue. Isak isn’t sure how many puffs he takes before he holds up his arm and extends his hand as an invitation to take the joint. Isak isn’t sure how many seconds go by before he accepts it. 

They don’t speak a word. They sit side by side and smoke until the joint shrinks, and until passing it back and forth begins requiring touching fingers more consciously. It feels odd at first, touching the pads of someone’s fingers without ever having a conversation or exchanging names or glances. Isak doesn’t even know what color is in this guy’s eyes. But it’s so cold that it barely matters anyway. 

None of this matters. 

They finish the joint and Even stands up first. Isak gives himself a moment before rising to his feet. He hasn’t smoked in a while, let alone at his workplace, and doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of this strange guy the first time they interact. 

The hand Even extends him after a while feels misplaced. Surely he meant to shove it in his pockets. Why is he putting his hand in Isak’s face? 

Oh. Right. 

Isak takes the hand and does his best to graciously stand without crashing into Even’s chest. He doesn’t.

“Thanks,” Isak mutters.

“Sure.” 

Isak doesn’t know why, but they hold hands for a little longer, both of them looking at each other’s fingers like they’re pieces of an unsolvable puzzle. Even drops his hand first. They don’t lock eyes. They barely say bye. 

Isak walks home with his thoughts floating about in his head. He wonders how someone seemingly so cold can have such warm hands. He wonders why it felt so nice to do nothing but sit and smoke next to a guy who holds one’s hand but won’t look them in the eyes. He wonders what color is in Even’s eyes.

.

Isak doesn’t get fired. Helga, his manager, hasn’t found out. And if she did, maybe she turned a blind eye. 

He hears Mette tell Matias that she saw him with Even the previous night, smoking on the step by the backdoor. But he doesn’t engage. He never engages.

The rest of the week is bleak, cold, and wet. Isak finds himself longing for snow. He goes on about his days methodically, carefully, numbly. 

He sees Even and nearly stops in his tracks. For what, he doesn’t know. Perhaps he was hoping to be acknowledged. But what is there to acknowledge about sharing a joint at the end of a long weekend night with the second most disgruntled employee in the staff? Nothing is what it is. 

It begins to snow in the middle of his shift, and he smiles a bit more genuinely to the patrons after that. He hurries to the back the moment their last table has cleared out and sits on the very step on which Even shared his weed with him. 

His buttocks are freezing but he doesn’t care. He needs to sit after being on his feet for so many hours. He sits and he watches the snow. He feels grateful that he can at least still enjoy things like snow falls. 

A moment later, the door opens quietly. It’s Even, Isak realizes before turning back to watch the dark sky and the snow illuminated by the street lamps. 

He nearly jumps when Even taps him in the back, now hovering right behind him. 

“Huh?”

“Here.” Even says while handing him a towel, then dropping one for himself next to Isak.

“Oh.” It’s for sitting, he realizes.

He wonders if all their interactions will consist of mono-syllables and interjections. 

Isak lifts himself up then sits back down on the now damp towel. 

“Thanks.” 

“Sure.” 

Isak realizes that Even is thoughtful after all, that he’s somewhat scary looking because he refuses to engage, but that he’s thoughtful. 

He also realizes that Even is looking at him right now, his gaze intense but bordering on shy. Isak wonders what this is about, why this odd guy is suddenly taking interest in him, why he’s giving him weed and towels for his freezing butt. 

He wants to look, to steal a quick glance. He wants to see what color is in those eyes. But just as he manages to talk himself through it, Even goes back to looking at his shoes. 

Isak finds himself staring at his shoes too, at the gravel beneath them. He finds himself looking at Even’s shoes, old Converses nervously tapping against the floor while snowflakes melt into the ground near them. 

Isak doesn’t know what’s happening, but he doesn’t mind it. This. The company. It’s oddly comforting having another body next to his own. They stay there until it’s time to officially close. 

“Bye,” Even tells him this time around. 

“Yeah, bye.” 

.

It doesn’t happen every night, but they start meeting more often on the step by the back door. An appointment neither of them remembers making, but that both honor whenever possible. 

Sometimes they smoke. Sometimes they watch the rain. Other times, Even listens to music through his headphones while Isak eats leftovers from the kitchen. It’s quiet and comfortable. It should be awkward, but it isn’t. It never lasts more than thirty minutes, but Isak finds himself looking forward to those thirty minutes the most. 

Quiet companionship. 

.

It’s a Friday night, the busiest at the restaurant, when Isak spots Jonas and Eskild walk through the door. 

He turns around almost immediately, having rehearsed this scene nearly every night before sleep would finally have him for the past five months. He walks on auto-pilot, the plates he was supposed to serve still in his hands as he completed his one eighty turn. He hears the customers complain, but the noise is drowned by the fight or flight response his body is exhibiting.

“Isak?!” He hears Jonas behind him. Of course he’d recognize him from his back alone. 

Isak doesn’t stop. He runs towards the back, discards the now ruined plates on the counter space, and pushes through his visibly concerned co-workers.

“Isak? What’s going on? Isak?” 

How he wishes they could shut up and mind their business. How he wishes they could stop saying his name. 

“Isak! Isak? Isak!” 

It feels that the entire world is calling for him, coming for him. His cover is blown. He’ll need to find a new place, a new school, a new apartment, a new job. This is it. 

That’s it. 

He’s still spiraling when two strong hands gently but purposely pull him away from the kitchen and into the nearest closet without uttering a word.

“What-”

It’s Even, Isak realizes dumbly.

“Stay here.” Even orders sternly before shoving him in the closet and leaving the door ajar. 

Isak stays there. He can’t do much, but stay there. It’s only a matter of time before Jonas and Eskild find him hiding in the janitor’s closet like the pathetic excuse that he is. It’s only a matter of time before the door is burst open and his entire Lillehammer persona is flushed down the drain. Only a matter of time before all the charades and the therapists and the visits and the “We’re here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone” bullshit. 

He just wants to be left alone. Isak doesn’t want anyone to be there for him. He just wants to be left alone. 

.

He is. For the most part. 

Matias opens the door and tells him that the guys who were looking for him left. Isak doesn’t understand. Emma then explains that Even made them go away, that he told them that no one by the name Isak works at their restaurant. She adds that he looked very threatening, and that all the girls were swooning because it was the first time hearing him speak. 

Isak can’t quite picture it. Even standing in the main dining room and kicking his friends out. How did he know he couldn’t confront them? How did he know to react the way he did? 

It’s embarrassing. 

Isak finishes his shift then starts to plan how he’ll resign, how he’ll find a new job, if it will be as well located as this one. 

.

Even finds him outside on the wet step. He didn’t even bother bringing a towel this time around. Neither of them does. 

Even sits beside him but doesn’t say a word. Isak can feel him stealing glances in between looking at his shoes. 

“That was embarrassing as fuck.” Isak says, and it’s the most he’s said to Even at once, he thinks.

“A little bit,” says Even, something like a smile in his voice. 

Isak snorts then, offended and embarrassed, but also grateful. The playful tone makes him giddy.

“You could sugarcoat it, you know?” 

“Why would I?” Even continues, snorting this time around. 

“How dare you-” Isak turns around then chokes on his own tongue. 

_A little bit._

Even’s hair is out of his face. The street lamps are casting a soft glow on his features, and he’s looking right into Isak’s eyes. 

He’s looking right at him. 

And he’s smiling. _Smiling._ His eyes are crinkling. 

He’s breathtaking. 

“Green,” Even says.

“Huh?”

“The color of your eyes. I’ve been wondering.”

Isak’s broken heart skips a beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this should be 3 chapters maybe 4. i wanted to write and post all of it at once but i have work in 7 hours and i just need some serotonin. haha.
> 
> they both have a lot of issues in this verse. but those issues might be related in ways they can't even begin to fathom
> 
> i hope you're all staying safe and sane and as happy as you can be right now. this year is not exactly going according to plan for most of us. but it will eventually end. i've been v into politics lately (as should everyone honestly, especially with the current climate) and it has somewhat turned me into this hopeless and angry miserable person (mostly the onslaught from the media every single day which has darkened my heart and set this perpetual cloud over my head). 
> 
> writing this was a quick break from that. honestly the most joyous time i've had in months.  
> this is not beta'd at all. i haven't even re-read it. i'm very crusty but i hope you like it.
> 
> miss you my loves <3 let me know if you like this *hugsss*


	2. Me Neither

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He wonders if Even feels the same way about him right then, if this is a situation of mutual pity. He wonders if Even wondered about other coworkers’ eyes, or just his own. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woww you guysss <333 the reaction to the first chapter made my week/my month/my quarter (?) didn't expect such a response.  
> thank you so much ;__; 
> 
> here's a slightly longer one. hope it's not a letdown from the 1st. thank youuu <3

His eyes are the purest blue, Isak learns that night. 

.

Sleep doesn’t come easily after that. Isak has been tossing around for nearly four hours with no end in sight. 

Two competing concerns alternate occupying his mind and exerting pressure to his chest. 

One. Jonas and Eskild are here. They’re in Lillehammer. They found out where he ran away to. They know where he works and they’ll probably track him down over the weekend.

Two. He let out a very embarrassing gasp when he locked eyes with Even on the wet step at work earlier. And not the type of gasp that is mostly heard and amplified in one’s own mind. No, it was rather mortifying. So mortifying and audible, in fact, that Even had felt the need to recoil and put more physical space between them, his smile _(his smile!)_ immediately dropping and his detached demeanor overtaking his features shortly thereafter.

_I’ve been wondering about the color of your eyes, too._ Isak would have said, had Even kept smiling. 

But Even hadn’t. He left him outside instead. He left him out there feeling dumb, and embarrassed, and cold.

Oddly enough, Isak felt nothing but gratitude toward Even even then. Gratitude for interfering earlier in the main dining room and delaying an inevitable lecture from Jonas and Eskild disguised in “worry and concern”, and gratitude for giving him an embarrassing gasp and blue eyes to torture himself over at night instead of the closet debacle. 

.

Isak doesn’t leave his room the following day. It’s Saturday, which is virtually the only day he can take a trip to the grocery store to fill his lone shelf in the small fridge he shares with two university students, Jakob and Olivia. But he’d take starving and eating leftovers from the restaurant all week over the thought of leaving the confines of his room right this moment -- even if that means listening to his roommates having obnoxiously loud morning sex as they do most mornings. 

Isak did initially toy with the idea of telling them to keep it down, but he eventually settled for leaving the apartment as soon as he made it out of the shower in the morning and coming back late at night. He couldn’t risk them developing ill feelings toward him and kicking him out, especially given the sweet deal he’d gotten himself. 

They were good to him after all, Jakob and Olivia. They barely noticed that he did not in fact attend university and that he was still in high school -- or perhaps they didn’t care, too desperate to fill the second room in the apartment they’d initially rented out as strangers before they started hooking up and moved into the same room. 

Sometimes, Isak wonders if they know and just feign ignorance, before he remembers that it doesn’t matter. He likes that they never ask questions, or invite him places, or wonder why he never has anyone over, or ever knock on his closed door. It’s a significant change from the arrangement he had with Eskild and Linn, and it’s a good thing. Perfect even. He doesn’t think he could bear that right now, Eskild leaning against the doorframe with some tea, asking him how he’s feeling every minute of every day when all he wants is to be left alone.

He couldn’t bear that right now. 

He entertains the idea of doing laundry in the basement of the building, but he just ends up burrowing further into his cheap sheets, as though attempting to leave a permanent imprint in the mattress. 

He must have had two hours of sleep, maybe three. His body feels heavy but not as heavy as his thoughts.

He drags himself to the shower and turns the faucet until the water burns his skin.

. 

Isak should have seen it coming. He should have known they would come looking for him at work the following day. He should have called in sick, or hell, he should have just quit right then and there. 

He tries performing another one eighty degrees turn when he spots Jonas and Eskild by the door of the restaurant, but his eyes lock with Jonas for a split of a second and he knows there’s no point in running. Jonas would chase him all over town if he needs to. 

_Fuck._

Isak stops dead in his tracks and takes his time turning around. If he can’t outrun them, he’ll just have to chase them away with his words.

“What the fuck, Isak?!” Jonas exclaims as soon as he’s in his face. He never beats around the bush when he’s frustrated. 

“Hi Jonas,” Isak says very calmly. “Eskild, hi.” 

“Hi? Is that all you have to say? Hi?!” Eskild’s voice sounds higher than usual. He looks angry and hurt. “We’ve been looking all over for you. You have no idea how worried everyone is.”

_Right._

Isak wonders who this ‘everyone’ Eskild keeps referring to are. They all looked like they’d moved on from their Instagram profiles after all.

“Uhm, I’m sorry you feel that way,” Isak speaks quietly, keeping his eyes fixed somewhere behind Eskild. He can’t look them in the eyes while he recites the speech he’s been rehearsing for months now. “But as you can see, there’s nothing to be worried about” 

“As we can see?!” Jonas interjects. “Isak, what the fuck? You just took off without telling anyone where you went. We had to report you missing, did you know that?” 

“I left a note. I told Terje.” There is no guilt in his voice. He just feels numb, even as he says his father’s name. 

“Terje? Your dad that you wanted nothing to do with anymore? The same dad you haven’t lived with in years?” says Eskild and his voice breaks a little bit. “That’s who you tell and not me? Not us?”

Isak shrugs.

“Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t say where I was going. But you know now. Yeah? Can we stop the drama? I’m late for work.” 

“Isak, what the fuck, man?” Jonas sighs. “Are you serious right now? That’s all you have to say?”

“There’s nothing else to say.” 

“You can’t just disappear and move to another city. You can’t just cut people out of your life like that.” 

“It’s not personal,” says Isak, his eyes fixed on his sneakers now. His palms are damp. “I’m not trying to piss anyone off. Sometimes people grow apart, you know? It’s not like we were hanging out that much last year anyway.”

“Isak-” Jonas starts then stops. He looks hurt. 

“Listen, I really was not kidding when I said I was late for work, yeah? Just go back to Oslo. Whatever you came here for is pointless.”

Isak wills his feet to move, his face to remain as blank as it probably looks right now. He does his best not to look at Jonas or Eskild’s faces. He doesn’t trust himself not to crack if he were to catch a glimpse of the disappointment in their eyes. 

He doesn’t get very far before Eskild catches up to him. It happens so fast, Isak doesn’t even have time to shove him off. Eskild hands him a large tote bag before wrapping him in a hug so tight, he briefly considers packing up and following them back to Oslo.

“Take your time,” Eskild says while holding him still. “My number is the same. It will never change. Call me whenever. I’ll always be here.”

“Eskild…” Isak tries to make the hug end, but he cannot. Not when Eskild is being so raw. 

“It wasn’t your fault, okay? None of it was your fault.” 

_Yes, it was. Everything was my fault._

.

Even is there, watching Isak intently when he makes it to the kitchen before heading into the closet Even had shoved him into the previous night. 

He probably looks ridiculous, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he can’t get any air into his lungs. Not when his respiratory system seems to be conspiring against him and blocking all oxygen from reaching his brain. Not when- 

He hears someone attempt to open the door to the dark closet -- probably Cecilie, she could never stay away or mind her own business. Then he hears a deep voice telling her to turn around. 

_Even._

She leaves Isak alone. Everyone leaves him alone to deal with his mild respiratory problem. And five minutes and a few breathing exercises later, Isak is back on his feet, ready to brace the world. 

The door bumps into someone as he tries to open it. It’s Even. He appears to have been guarding the door. Isak doesn’t know how this guy manages to make him feel embarrassed and grateful at every encounter. 

“You good?” Even asks, his voice flat, devoid of judgement. They don’t lock eyes.

“Yup.” Isak replies curtly before making his way to his locker in the break room, acting as though he hasn’t just had a second very public meltdown in less than twenty four hours. 

. 

Even finds him on the step -- their step? -- later that evening. Isak has been bracing himself for this, whatever this is, during his shift as he served plates and wine glasses. He hopes Even will uphold their unspoken one-word conversation rule, but he feels that he owes him at least a ‘thank you’ or a short vague explanation. 

“Happens often?” Even asks casually, breaking the silence first. 

“Hm?” 

“Panic attacks.” 

_Hm._ Isak wouldn’t call them that. 

He shrugs, too drained to challenge it.

“I just needed a moment.” 

“They came back?” Even asks, without elaborating on who ‘they’ refers to. It feels like they don’t need to elaborate. 

“Yeah.” Isak admits. 

“Use the backdoor next time.” 

Isak looks up and realizes that Even is smoking beside him. It’s freezing. Neither of them have towels for their butts. 

“Won’t be necessary,” says Isak. _they won’t come back. I made sure of that._

“They’ll be back,” says Even, as though reading his mind. It makes Isak blink for a moment. 

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” 

_Are you also running?_

They don’t talk a lot after that. It’s freezing. Isak can feel his teeth chattering. Even must be cold too, despite wearing what seems like a dozen band shirts. 

Still, neither of them moves. It’s freezing, but it’s the warmest Isak has felt in months. They sit there until it’s time to close. 

.

Isak walks home feeling a little numb, both from the cold and from the visit. He hopes Eskild isn’t too hurt and that Jonas isn’t too angry. He wonders what they’ll tell “everyone” when they get back home. He wonders where they’re staying or if they headed back as soon as they confronted him earlier in the day. 

His phone vibrates with a text notification in his pocket and he stops when he sees the name to brace himself for another paragraph. 

But it’s not a paragraph. 

.

**Jonas:** i’ll be right here when you want to talk. even if it’s just about BoJack Horseman

**Isak:** how did you find me?

**Jonas:** Netflix emailed me when you logged into the shared acc from Lillehammer

**Jonas:** I’ll never delete your netflix profile. Just know that. ok? 

**Jonas:** ok??

**Isak:** ok

. 

It’s only slightly ironic that the only thing keeping him entertained since he started his self-isolation is also the thing that gives him away. Isak wonders how they found his workplace, but decides not to engage further. 

He stands outside under a streetlamp for a moment longer, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before resuming his walk ‘home’. 

He finds Jakob and Olivia tangled in the couch in front of the TV, both fast asleep in each other’s arms, and his heart pinches a bit at the sight. He’s convinced that it’s not something he wants or longs for, but knowing that he’ll never have a chest to burrow into and arms to feel safely tucked into at the end of an emotionally draining day stings a bit.

Just a bit. 

Isak opens the tote bag that Eskild gives him and feels a bit better when he sees bread, and pasta, and crackers, and slippers, and shampoo (the one he used to steal from Eskild all the time), and lavender scented air freshener. 

It makes him smile a bit. Just a bit. 

.

Sunday is Even’s day off, Isak finds out. He’s never noticed before, even after they started hanging out outside during their breaks. 

“Even doesn’t come in on Sundays.” It’s not until Mette points it out, as though he’s been asking about Even’s whereabouts out loud that he realizes he’s being too obvious about his interest in the new guy. 

“I know that,” Isak lies. 

“Sure.” She laughs but it’s not mean. “What’s the deal with you two anyway?” 

“I don’t understand.”

“Why do you insist on freezing your asses off during your breaks all the time?” 

“No reason.” 

Isak walks away, not engaging further. His pulse has quicked a bit, he notices. He feels nervous, as though he’s been caught red handed. His breathing is shallow. His thoughts are tangled. 

Not because his co-workers are making up movies about “the deal between the two of them anyway” and probably gossiping about it, but because he realizes he’s been actively seeking him out today. That he sat outside in the cold for thirty minutes during his break because he was hoping Even would show up, spare him a word, then share his terrible weed with him. 

The thought leaves him puzzled. 

He hasn’t waited for a boy to open a door and sit next to him since his ridiculous crush on Jonas years ago. He hasn’t felt his face heat up at the mere mention of someone’s name since his sad closeted days in Nissen. 

Not that he’s exactly out right now. He hasn’t been intimate with a guy yet despite coming to terms with the fact that he’s definitely not attracted to girls. He hasn’t had time to think about sex or to seek anyone out. He doesn’t like to think about it. His “funk” has even managed to strip him of the contractual horniness that comes with being a young gay man. It feels like too much work for little reward, especially when he could just browse the internet on his lonelier nights. 

That night, Isak dreams of Even’s hand -- the way it felt around his own. He dreams of it touching him in other places, too. 

He wakes up mortified and ashamed. 

.

Isak doesn’t seek out Even on Tuesday. He focuses on serving the sparse orders and thinks about his physics homework when it gets quiet again. He goes to the break room in between shifts and does some homework. Mette and Emma ask him if he’s feeling okay after he sneezes for the fifth time, and he says that he’s fine. He just caught a little cold. He doesn’t mention that it’s probably because he sat outside alone in nothing but his uniform in the freezing cold on Sunday night while waiting for Even to show up and warm him up by simply sitting there. 

The thought alone is embarrassing enough. 

He thinks he catches Even looking when he deposits a tray filled with empty dishes around the sink. But it’s probably in his head. He feels a bit lightheaded after all. Perhaps he’s running a fever. He should just wrap up and go home. 

It’s raining buckets by the time they’ve closed. He should have checked the weather before leaving, but it’s not like he owns an umbrella anyway.

“Here.” Isak hears and his knees buckle a bit, because that same voice was in his dream last night, and he’s not ready to accept what that means quite yet. 

Even is standing beside him with what looks like an umbrella. He’s looking ahead as though scared to make eye contact with Isak again. 

“What?” 

“Take this,” Even says as he pushes the umbrella into Isak’s hand. “You’re sick.” 

“What about you?”

“I’m fine.”

And then Even lifts the collar of his jacket above his head and takes off running in the rain. He just runs in torrential rain. 

He looks like an idiot. 

He looks like a fucking idiot, and Isak’s heart is pounding so hard in his chest, he feels he might collapse from the pressure alone. He can’t quite believe him. 

What an idiot. 

Isak can’t tell if he’s actually angry or if his fever is distorting his responses to idiotic gestures. 

He could run after him, but he can’t even see him any longer. Besides, he knows Even would just shove him away and keep running. He’s tempted to just throw the umbrella on the ground and brave the rain in protest, but that would be even more stupid that what Even just did. Because no one’s there to witness his protest and this is exam week, so he cannot afford to be bedridden. 

Isak sighs, then opens the umbrella and heads home. 

He finds Jakob and Olivia cuddling on the couch again, but it doesn’t hurt as much tonight. 

.

Isak calls in sick the next day. Mette and Cecilie message him on the work Whatsapp group to ask if he needs anything, and he says that he’s fine. 

He clicks on the list of numbers to see if Even is in there, but it’s just strings of numbers, most of which don’t have a profile picture. He feels dumb for even wondering then shoves his phone his pocket before heading to call. 

One of his teachers asks him if he wants to go home because he doesn’t look so good, and he assures her that he’s fine. She tells him not to worry about absences and that his parents can just call the school, and his mood drops and his chest tightens. 

It angers him that it’s assumed that everyone has a stable home environment. He later lets go of the nonsensical resentment when he heads home mid-day after his teacher vouches for him, and spends the afternoon eating the crackers Eskild gave him in the care package.

.

Even is sick when Isak makes it back to work on Friday. He feels immediately guilty, clutching the black umbrella he’s had since Tuesday and wondering how to give it back to Even without embarrassing himself or worse, calling Even an idiot for his stunt the other day. 

But the restaurant is busy tonight and he can’t quite get his attention or a minute to go fetch the umbrella from his locker. He watches him from afar as he completes his trips in and out of the kitchen, though. Even looks tired, even more so than usual. His back is slightly hunched, his cheeks more hollow, his hair even messier. He hasn’t removed his tangled headphones all night and hasn’t really spared anyone a glance. 

Isak feels something akin to tenderness for Even at that moment. He can’t quite put a finger on it, but watching him rinse plates with an empty gaze makes him want to look out for him a little bit too.

He wonders if Even feels the same way about him right then, if this is a situation of mutual pity. He wonders if Even wondered about other coworkers’ eyes, or just his own. 

“Isak? Hello?” Helga snaps her fingers at him when she notices him spacing out. 

He apologizes then goes on about his shift. Even doesn’t come to the back. 

.

Isak stays behind everyone else. Even is usually the last one to leave and to close, but Isak couldn’t bear the thought of leaving without giving him his umbrella back, and he couldn’t work up the nerve to do it with everyone else around. He wants to thank him. He wants to properly thank him, and maybe say more three words this time around. 

So he stays. 

“What are you doing?” Even asks when he catches him putting chairs up in the main dining room, and his voice does things to Isak. It just does. He no longer denies it. 

“Helping you close,” says Isak.

“Uh. Why?”

“So you can go home earlier.”

Six words. Isak counts them. The silence stretches between them. Isak feels dizzy when he lifts a larger chair. 

“Why?”

“You’re sick,” says Isak, mirroring Even’s words. 

“I’m fine.”

“You didn’t come outside.”

“It was busy tonight.”

“Okay.” 

“You feeling better?” Even asks, and Isak feels so grateful. So so grateful, it’s so pathetic. 

“Yeah. Thanks.”

They work well together, he realizes. They finish up the room fairly quickly. They meet around the last table, flipping the last chairs, in the dark, as only the backlights remain are on to discourage any drunk wanderers from trying to come in. 

It’s absurd but the moment feels intense. Isak can hear Even’s breathing. He can hear that he’s nervous too. They’re so close. They’re both catching their breath from all the lifting, but Isak knows that’s not why his breathing is so shallow. 

“Thank you,” says Even. It’s very quiet. It’s just for him. “For helping.”

“Sure. Yeah.”

Even scratches the back of his neck. Isak fumbles with his fingers. 

“Wanna smoke?” Even eventually breaks the silence.

.

They smoke as they walk after closing. 

Even is holding onto the umbrella that Isak returned while they pass the joint back and forth.

“What’s your bus stop?” 

“I walk,” says Isak. “You?”

“I walk, too.” 

They walk. 

In circles. 

Isak doesn’t want to go home and it feels like Even doesn’t want to either. It’s freezing, but Isak’s face feels hot. His palm feels damp in his pocket. The tips of his fingers burn as he passes the joint back to Even. 

_Look me in the eyes again._ He wants to ask. But it feels too scary. 

Even coughs a few times and Isak begins to feel guilty for keeping him outside in the cold while they walk in circles. 

“I live around here,” he says.

“Oh. You do?”

“Yeah. Uhm that building over there, actually.” Isak points to his building. He doesn’t feel weird divulging that to Even. It should feel weird because he hates telling people about his business, but it doesn’t.

“I see,” says Even. But he doesn’t stop walking. He walks with Isak until they’re at the door. 

“Uhm. Thanks.”

“What for?”

“For walking me. I guess.” Isak fumbles. He feels nervous, way too nervous. 

“No problem.” 

Even doesn’t really move. Isak doesn’t either. They both look at their feet. Isak wants to look up and be blindsided again. 

They both kick gravel under their shoes. Isak feels dumb and nervous. He thinks about finding Olivia and Jakob cuddling on the couch and it makes him want to scream.

“Uhm. Do you- do you maybe wanna come up?” 

Isak holds his breath. He didn’t know he was going to ask that question. He’s not fully sure what he’ll do if Even says yes. He’s never done this before. He doesn’t even know-

“Uh. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Even says after a moment, cutting his whirling thoughts short. He doesn’t sound too convincing, but Isak has used up his courage quota for the day. He feels depleted.

“Uhm, okay.”

It feels final. A line has been drawn. But then Even takes a deep breath that sends shivers down Isak’s spine, and just says. 

“Goodnight, Isak.” 

Even has never said his name before. He looks up and they lock eyes. Green and blue. It feels right. It feels so right.

“You know. I wondered about the color of your eyes too,” says Isak.

Even lets out a gasp this time around and it’s such a lovely sound and sight.

“Goodnight, Even.”

.

They start walking together after work, because it feels less cold than sitting on the pavement. It’s not awkward even if it feels like it should be. Isak stays behind and helps out with closing, and then they take a walk. 

Isak misses him on Sundays and Mondays and on his days off.

He learns that one of Even’s earphones no longer works, but that he still puts both on to keep the world at arm’s length. He learns that he likes that his headphones always tangled, and that unwinding them gives him something to focus on. He learns that Even likes 90s rap and sad obscure alternative. He never asks him to come up again, not that he knows what he would have done if he’d actually said yes. He’s never even kissed a boy. He’s not even sure whether Even leans this way or if this is just a friendly bond born out of pity. Isak doesn’t dwell on it. He doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t like to.

But then he’ll catch Even staring before quickly looking away, notice Even carrying a bigger umbrella in case it rains during their walks, hear Even’s breath hitch when they get too close while moving chairs around in the dark dining room. 

He’ll just notice and wonder if he should ask again. But he knows he shouldn’t.

Because every time they get too close, Even takes several steps back. Every time Even catches himself looking, he immediately averts his eyes. Every time Isak tries to lean against him a bit while they’re walking under the umbrella, Even distances himself even if it means his shoulder getting soaked. 

And Isak wants to ask questions besides ‘you good?’ and ‘you still sick’? He wants to know more about him. He wants to know why he looks like he used to smile all the time then decided to never smile again. He wants to know why he looks so sad, so heartbroken, so… _alone._ He wants to know, but he never asks. Because if asked himself, Isak wouldn’t know how to answer either.

Instead, he revels in the easy peculiar friendship. They laugh sometimes, but it’s always quiet and hushed, as though both trying to keep their laughter a secret, as though they don’t deserve to laugh, so they indulge in it surreptitiously anyway. 

_Is your guilt as immense as mine._

.

Isak stops at a convenience store to buy instant coffee after he ran out of it at the apartment. He waits behind a woman with a million items in her cart and looks around the register. His eyes land on wired earphones that look like Even’s and he feels that weird tenderness settle in his chest. 

They don’t cost much. They’re not from a real brand and look like knock-offs, but they’ll probably be better than old tangled half-working Apple earphones. At least music would be going into both ears with these. Besides, they don’t cost much. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Even has done so much for Isak. This could be a funny way of saying ‘hey thanks for shoving me into a closet while my friends from back home came looking out for me, and thanks for guarding that door that one time I was having a panic attack, and thanks for giving me your umbrella and running off like an idiot and-’. 

“Are you ready to pay?” the cashier snaps him back into reality.

“Uh yeah. Uh, can I have those headphones, too?”

.

Isak doesn’t give Even the headphones. He regrets buying them almost immediately. What was he thinking? It’s such a rude materialistic gift. If Even wanted cheap earphones, he would have bought a pair. Besides, they’re nothing but weird friends who walk home sometimes. Nothing more, nothing less. 

The headphones stay in the innermost left pocket of Isak’s jacket. 

.

It’s December and the snow is getting unmanageable. Walking feels particularly stupid while both of their teeth are chattering and their fingers are numb are red, but neither wants to give it up first. 

“Do you wanna come up?” Isak asks again one night because Even is shivering. “It’s cold as shit. We can just smoke in my room.”

Even looks at him for a while. He looks conflicted and worried. About what? Isak doesn’t know, but he can see it eating away at him. 

“We can just chill.” Isak insists. “I can open the window if you still want to freeze.” He jokes and that gets Even to crack a small smile and relax.

“Okay.” 

.

Walking up the stairs in the dark feels intense and scary with the object of one’s most recent ‘friendship’ is right behind. Isak isn’t sure how much space he should put between them. He feels the urge to run up every couple of stairs, but then he’s worried he’ll trip and just end up flat on his face. The sound of their feet on the stairs mimics the thudding in his chest. They both breathe hard when they reach the door and Isak fumbles with his keys under Even’s intense stare. 

Isak hopes his room is clean. 

.

Jakob and Olivia are asleep on the couch, spooning. Isak would have otherwise felt a stab to his chest, but not tonight. 

Even, however, stares at them for a little while. It would be creepy if Even didn’t look so… sad. 

“Uhm, my roommates. They’re a couple,” Isak explains after he closes his bedroom door. He makes sure to only turn on the dimmed light. 

He sits on his desk chair while Even stands awkwardly by the door.

“They both live here?” he asks.

“Yeah. He used to live in my room actually. They were just roommates, but then they got together and sublet this room,” says Isak. “Uh, you can sit anywhere you want, by the way.”

Even looks around the room. The bed is the only place left to sit. 

But then he surprises Isak by folding his long legs under him and plopping on the floor.

“It’s nice,” he says while staring at the blank walls. 

Isak is thankful for Eskild’s lavender air freshener all of a sudden.

“Thanks.” 

Even then begins rolling a joint on his bedroom floor and Isak joins him on the rug shortly thereafter.

.

They smoke. It feels nice. 

It’s dark except for Isak’s dimmed bedside table lamp and it’s so nice. 

It’s so nice that Isak lets himself stare. He stares and he stares and he stares, until Even can no longer pretend that he doesn’t see him staring. 

He looks up, and for a moment they just look into each other’s eyes, their chests rising, falling, rising, falling. 

“Isak..” Even sighs, about to draw the line, but Isak doesn’t let him finish his thought. 

He reaches for Even’s hand on the floor. He has no idea what he’s doing, but he reaches for Even’s hand and just latches onto his fingers.

Isak remembers the first time Even held his hand, the night they shared their first joint. 

Even stares at their fingers, too. They both do. 

Even brushes his thumb over Isak’s knuckles and Isak lets out a small quiet whimper. 

The cold wind blows from the window. Isak brushes his thumb over Even’s knuckles, too. 

It’s too much. Isak doesn’t understand this feeling, but he knows he’s never anything remotely close to this before. 

Then Even stands up abruptly and just says, “I think I should go.”

.

There is a girl at work looking for Even the following week. She’s tall and beautiful and has short blond hair, and something dark twists inside Isak’s stomach.

Everyone watches through the window as Even and the girl take their business outside on the sidewalk, but Isak can’t bring himself to watch or participate. 

“You think she’s his girlfriend?”

“I don’t know. But Even does _not_ look happy to see her.”

“You can’t blame him. She’s been yelling at him for the past twenty minutes.”

“It looks like he gave her something to yell about. She looks on the verge of tears. Poor girl. Do you think it’s related to his criminal record?”

“I don’t know. I wonder what he did to end up in prison. Do you actually think he served time? Or just got a slap on the wrist type of situation?”

Isak retracts to the back door. He’s heard enough.

.

Even doesn't come back to work later that evening. In fact, he emptied his locker and returned his apron. Isak has to find out through Mette who asks him if he knows what his “work BFF Even” is up to. Isak shrugs and shakes his head no.

Even doesn't come back the following day, nor the day after that. He and the rest of the staff have to find out through Helga that he did in fact quit and that he won’t be coming back.

It stings a little bit.

Just a bit. 

.

Isak finds himself consumed by resentment at first. Resentment over not finding out from Even directly, resentment over the gorgeous blond girl, resentment for not hearing from him for nearly a week now. But it then morphs into worry. 

Isak worries mostly. He hopes he’s okay. He just hopes he’s okay. 

He’s holed up in his room when the intercom rings, and neither Jakob or Olivia are in this weekend, so he could just ignore it because who would ever come looking for him. But for some reason he gets up and crosses the empty apartment to check, just to check, just in case. 

“Hey. It’s me.” 

.

Isak meets him in the hallway, too impatient to wait for him to reach the door. And he’s not sure what he expected, but it’s not Even looking at him like _this._

With so much sadness and want and guilt. 

Isak wants to ask a million questions but he just settles for, “wanna smoke?”

He leads him inside the apartment and Even stops as if to check if the couple is cuddling on the couch, but Isak takes his hand and says, “they’re not here this weekend.”

Even squeezes his hand and follows him, and it feels so big and so important. Because Isak’s heart is beating out of his chest, and Even is looking at him like _that_. And Isak closes the door behind them even though they’re alone in the apartment, and he takes a deep breath before looking at Even right back. 

They stand there in the dimly lit bedroom before Even lunges forward tentatively, and Isak thinks he's about to kiss him, but Even takes Isak into his arms instead. And for some reason, it feels just as overwhelming, just as disorienting. Hugging. Just hugging. It knocks Isak off balance for a second, being held like this, by someone this overwhelming, by arms this strong. Isak holds him right back, wraps his arms around him and holds him so close and so tight, his face in his neck. And it’s so intense, they just rock in each other’s arms for a while, just swaying as if they're dancing, and Isak doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t wish to. He doesn’t want anything more or anything less than just this.

They part after a while, after they find their center, and it feels like taking a breath of fresh air. Isak looks at Even. He just looks at him, and they’re both out of breath. Isak wants to laugh. 

But Even cups his face in both hands, and his knees buckle instead. He feels limp and lightheaded. Even brings their foreheads together, and Isak’s hands find Even’s neck. And they’re breathing together, eyes closed, noses touching. 

_I’ve never felt like this before._ Isak wants to say. _I want everything good in the world to happen to you. Only you._

And they’re about to kiss, Isak can feel it. Can feel Even’s breath on his face, can almost picture how those lips will feel on his. And he wants it. He hasn’t wanted anything since April. Never thought he’d want anything ever again since April. 

Isak pulls Even closer, wants to close the distance, but Even pushes him a bit further, just a bit.

“Isak, wait. I-” he pants, and his eyes are still closed, but Isak knows he wants this, too.

“What?” Isak mouths, his hands less confident on Even’s neck. “Even, what?”

“I don’t- I’m not-”

Isak tries to complete the sentence in his head. _‘I don’t do this often? I’m not into hook-ups? I’m not with that girl who showed to work last week? I’m not okay? I’m not clean? I’m not prepared? I’m not experienced? I’m not sure how to do this?’_ Whatever it is, Isak is pretty sure his answer will be ‘Me neither. Don’t worry about it. Me neither.” 

“You’re not what?” Isak asks sweetly, carefully, his nose running along Even’s, their foreheads still pressed together. “You’re not what, Even?”

“I’m not looking for love."

_Oh._

"I don't stay, Isak. I'm not- I'm not looking for love.” 

And it sounds like a lie. Still, the words carve themselves inside his brain, find themselves a nook deep inside his heart. _Of course. Yeah of course._

There’s a pause. Even’s holding his breath and Isak is too. 

And Isak feels just like the headphones he never got to give to Even, burning away in the innermost left pocket of his only jacket. 

_I’m not looking for love, Isak._

He feels cheap, useless, and unnecessary. 

Still, Isak says, “Me neither. Don’t worry about it. Me neither.” 

Even kisses him and Isak feels whole and broken at once. 

.

> _I’m not looking for it. I’m desperate for it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to thank everyone who left a comment on the first chapter. truly overwhelmed (in the best way) by the response and lovely comments. it's so nice to see so many people still around and getting email notifications. thank youu so much?? i felt so much love. honestly i miss being around here and writing and doing things that bring me joy.  
> so thank youu <3333
> 
> it's so hot right now that i'm longing for the cold. the theme here is that they both find warmth in each other. they're still not exactly talking about their pasts but they have this pure bond they can't walk away from. i changed it to 4 chapters cause i think it makes more sense now.
> 
> hope you liked this. *huuuuggsss*  
> tw: panic attacks, big sad,


	3. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> healing, heat, comfort, and answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a while because i'm working 24/7 and because of the end of this chapter dun dun
> 
> warning: darkest timeline?
> 
> thank you for the comments. the serotoninnnnn. love you guys <33333

Even carries around a broken heart, too. Isak learns that night. 

.

Isak’s mind is blank when Even’s lips leave his own. He can’t tell how long the kiss lasted. He can’t tell if he kissed back. He just knows that his hands are fisted in Even’s sweater by his narrow waist, and that it’s hard to breathe, let alone think. 

Even’s hands are still cupping his face, his blue eyes searching, waiting, pleading. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, out of breath too, his voice hoarse and careful, so careful.

Isak realizes that Even is asking him for permission to continue, to carry on, to lean in and steal his breath again, to put his lips on him again.

Can Even tell that it’s Isak’s first time doing this? Whatever this is? Maybe. Probably. 

Even’s thumb brushes against his cheekbone, softly, tenderly, and Isak’s heart skips a beat. Then another.

He closes his eyes and pulls Even by the sweater. He kisses him first this time. 

They kiss. They cling to one another. Even’s hands cradle his face like he’s afraid Isak might vanish into thin air and Isak lets out needy sounds he wishes he could unhear. 

He’s wearing so many layers, but he still feels vulnerable and bare. He feels see-through. He never knew he was capable of uttering such sounds, of tilting his head at such angles, of being this desperate, this pathetic.

He doesn’t understand why Even is here, in his apartment, in his room, kissing him so thoroughly and so deeply that Isak feels like letting out a sob, when he’s been keeping him at arm’s length for months. Isak doesn’t understand what made Even change his mind and come to him after he’d convinced himself he would never see him again. He doesn’t understand why Even felt the need to preface this encounter with ‘I’m not looking for love’. Does Isak look like someone who needs to be told such words? Does he look that desperate?

Isak doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t wish to tempt his luck. If this is a lapse in Even’s judgement, then he’ll make the most out of it. He’ll take what he can get before it’s all over.

He’s on his tiptoes and Even’s tongue is in his mouth, taking and taking and taking. He can’t breathe with Even’s hands touching him so carefully, so tenderly. It nearly breaks him, how gentle Even is being. 

Isak presses himself against him, chasing the friction mindlessly. One of Even’s hands leaves his face to settle by his waist, bringing him even closer.

Isak gasps into his mouth. 

Even lets out a small chuckle then, catching Isak off guard. They stop kissing. But Even doesn’t stop touching him. Their foreheads are pressed together. Isak lets out a nervous and shaky chuckle as well. They both breathe long and hard. Even looks right into his eyes and Isak finds himself faltering under his intense gaze, like he might crumble into the hardwood floor.

“What?” he asks quietly. And he sounds shy, so shy.

“Nothing,” Even says with a small smile before kissing him again.

And again and again, until Isak pulls him into his bed by the sweater. They both sit at the foot of the mattress. They’re still kissing, touching. Isak doesn’t know what comes after this. Are they going to have sex? This is probably what Even came here for, after all. He’s not “looking for love”, so sex is what he must be after.

But Isak doesn’t know the first thing about sex. Sure, his porn watching history is long and extensive, but he doesn’t feel ready. He doesn’t feel _worthy._ He does not want to disappoint the first and only boy who’s ever wanted him back, even if it’s just for one night. 

Even is kissing his neck and Isak’s mind is reeling. He doesn’t even have condoms. It never occurred to him that he’d find himself in a situation even remotely close to this one. Still, Even probably has some on him. He came here after all. Or maybe they don’t have to go all the way. 

But what if this is Isak’s only opportunity to be intimate with someone?

“Are you okay?” Even asks with a worried look, snapping him out of his anxious thoughts, and Isak feels embarrassed. 

He’s shaking lightly, he realizes. He can’t tell if it’s from the want or the nerves.

“Yes,” Isak says before pulling Even into a kiss even messier than the ones before. 

It’s wet and harsh and sad. Isak puts his hands on Even’s thighs before moving to drop to his knees between Even’s legs. 

Even gasps while Isak moves to unbuckle his pants.

“Isak-” Even says, but Isak cannot hear him. His hands are trembling and he’s sure he’ll be miserable at this, but he needs to give Even what he came here for. 

Even’s hands find his own, however, forcing Isak to look up.

“How old are you?” he asks.

“Seventeen.” 

“You don’t have to do this,” says Even. “We don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” Isak replies, with determination he didn’t know he had. He’s blushing. He knows he is. 

The jeans come off and Isak’s heart is pounding hard in his chest. He’s overwhelmed by the sight, by the scent. His own body springs into life like it hasn’t in so many miserable months. He cups Even in his boxers. They both shudder. Isak wants to commit this feeling to memory. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

Then he gets to work. He uses his hands at first, awkwardly applying what he’s seen in porn. But it doesn’t seem to be working.

In porn, things take a different turn by this time. But nothing is happening. Isak feels awkward touching Even and Even not reacting to him at all. His face gets hotter with pure embarrassment. 

He’s so bad at this, that even on his knees, Even doesn’t seem to want him as much as Isak is burning for him. 

“I’ll try with my mouth,” he says without looking Even in the eyes. 

“No,” Even whispers. “It won’t make a difference.”

Isak is writhing with embarrassment. 

“Oh, okay,” he resigns, pulling away and looking at the floor.

“No,” Even says, before leaning down to cup Isak’s face and kiss him. He kisses him so deeply that Isak momentarily forgets about his predicament and kisses back. “It’s not you. This is not your fault.”

Isak looks away again. He’s never felt this mortified.

“Hey, look at me.” 

Even lifts Isak’s chin then reaches for his arms to pull him up. Isak goes. He follows until he’s sat on the bed again with Even holding his hand, his pants still around his ankles. 

“It’s not you. I’m just-” he stops as if to think about what to say next. “I’m just a little sad right now.”

That gets Isak to look up. Even looks ashamed and embarrassed too, he realizes. 

“I’m making you sad?” Isak asks genuinely. 

It makes Even chuckle, like he’s endeared despite the circumstances. “You’re not making me sad.”

“No?”

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Even adds, his hand coming up to caress Isak’s face again.

“Then why-?”

“I’m going through a depressive episode right now. I can’t really get it up.”

“Oh.” Isak doesn’t know what to make of this. 

Depressive episode? That would explain the overall sadness Even carries around like a heavy winter coat. That would explain the void in his eyes, the hunch of his shoulders. It would explain many other things. But how could someone this beautiful be going through a feeling that isolating, that lonely? 

Isak stares, unintentionally trying to draw similarities between Even’s eyes and his own mother’s. His mother always had the emptiest eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out.

Even laughs again. “Why are you sorry?”

“I don’t want you to be sad.” 

Even leans in and kisses him again. Isak kisses back, ardently, urgently, secretly and selfishly hoping the intensity might ignite something within Even, might take his sorrows away. 

It doesn’t.

But it’s not terrible. The kissing. It’s quite wonderful, actually. They’re lying on the bed by now and holding one another while Even brands him with his tongue, with his lips. Isak pulls at Even’s hair and Even touches his skin under his shirt, making Isak shake with want. 

It’s embarrassing, how visibly shaken he is by this encounter while Even’s body doesn’t seem to reciprocate. 

“You’re hot,” Even whispers, as though listening to Isak’s inner thoughts and raging insecurities. 

_Right._

“Let me show you.” 

Isak lets Even show him. He lets him take his sweatpants off, and then his underwear. He lets Even touch him, he lets Even see him at his most vulnerable, he lets Even put his mouth on him. Isak lets Even watch him fall apart and cry out in uninhibited pleasure. 

He lets Even clean him with the toilet paper roll from his night stand. He then lets Even hold him. 

Even holds him in bed and Isak hides his face in the crook of his neck, breathing loud and hard. He lets himself be held and cradled. He lets Even press kisses to his hair and his temple.

Isak lets himself fall asleep in Even’s arms. 

For the first time in months, he just sleeps.

.

Even is not there in the morning. 

Isak entertains the possibility of finding him in the bathroom or in the kitchen, smiling with wet hair while making a surprise breakfast or something equally cheesy and unrealistic. 

But deep down, he knows that Even has already left. He knows that Even “doesn’t stay”. He knows that he’ll never see Even again. 

It stings a bit. But only a bit.

There’s no need for goodbyes. 

They were nothing. Last night was nothing. 

He sleeps for the rest of the day, hugging the pillow still carrying Even’s scent. He swears he’ll never wash his sheets again.

.

Isak skips the resentment stage. Some girls at work are still wondering about Even’s whereabouts weeks after he quit, still making up stories and theories, and mourning their imaginary bond with the quiet and scary looking busboy who quit without bothering to tell anyone. And it makes Isak smile quietly to himself.

It makes him smile because he knows something no one else in this restaurant does. Even is gentle. Even is kind. Even came to him. Even kissed him. Even touched him.

Isak skips the resentment stage at being left in bed, cold and alone, with no goodbye or note to his name. Instead, he carries nothing but tenderness in his heart for Even. Nothing but gratitude. For his gentle touches, for his tacit support, for his very few words, for his very rare smiles. 

He sometimes wishes he’d stayed up later that night. He wishes he’d tried to coax more information out of him, tried to ask him about the beautiful girl with the short blond hair and about the reason he chose to quit his job. He wishes he’d tried asking for his full name, for his phone number, for some other form of contact information. 

Sometimes he wishes he’d stayed up and stared at his face for a little longer. He wishes he’d traced his jawline with his fingers, caressed the darkness underneath his eyes, kissed his chest and left a mark there. 

He wishes for different things but he knows this was the best possible outcome. Even does not fit into his life and Isak wouldn’t fit into his either. 

They’re too sad. The both of them. They couldn’t be. There’s nothing to be.

So Isak focuses on being grateful for the little they had, for the one night he had arms to burrow into, for the one time someone seemed to want him back.

Most nights, it’s enough.

.

.

.

Trondheim is… _a lot._

The streets aren’t as busy as in Oslo, but it’s still a significant change from Lillehammer. There’s more life. Or maybe it’s because he mostly lives in the student village and is surrounded by eager and overzealous university goers around the clock.

The first year is mostly spent adjusting. Adjusting to the weather, to the streets, to the bus routes, to the loud roommates, to the newfound freedom. He misses about half of the welcome sessions, not interested in “meeting other students just getting started” or in participating in superficial campus events. The excitement of some of the student volunteers reminds him of Vilde’s back in Nissen. Isak wonders what she’s up to sometimes, where she ended up. Where all of them ended up.

He manages to finish his first year without pulling too many all-nighters or getting himself into any unnecessary drama. He finds a job at the library and makes ends meet. He doesn’t spend money on things. He doesn’t eat much. He doesn’t drink much. He doesn’t buy new clothes or anything else really. He’s mostly comfortable.

Nothing really ever happens and it’s alright. His roommates stop trying to invite him places and paying him any attention after a few weeks, and Isak likes it this way. 

His thumb hovers over the Grindr app a few times. His gaze wanders around a couple of times when guys look at him for a beat too long. But he never really does anything about it. He doesn’t think he could, or maybe he doesn’t really want to. It seems too complicated and not at all gratifying. He craves sexual release, but he can’t imagine doing such things --touching, hugging, kissing, putting his mouth on someone else’s skin-- with just about anyone. Perhaps something is wrong with him. Or maybe it’s the ‘sadness’. Maybe, he’s ‘just a little bit sad right now’.

The words feel funny even in his own head.

.

Isak moves out of student housing to a cheaper apartment when the academic year ends. He finds himself in a flatshare with older students near the city center. It’s nice. It’s less rowdy, less irritating. But then maybe it’s because most students have left town. 

He feels a little lonely on June twenty first when he realizes that he has nothing to celebrate and no one to celebrate it with. He remembers his previous birthday as well, spent alone in his room while Jakob and Olivia watched some Netflix movie in the living room. He remembers how he took sleeping pills to fall asleep earlier in the evening and force the day to end.

He should probably acquire some sleeping aids for today as well.

His chest clenches when he sees texts from Jonas, Mahdi, Magnus, Eskild, and Eva. 

He doesn’t open them or read them. He can’t afford the sentimentality and nostalgia.

Terje calls. Isak makes the mistake of picking up thinking it would be a quick ‘happy birthday, son. Here’s some money.’

Instead, Terje tells him that he needs to call Marianne, that she’s doing better and that he needs to return her calls. He says that she didn’t mean any of those things she said over a year ago, that she’s glad he’s her son and that she just wants to talk to him again. 

Isak has read her countless texts over the past year. Terje paraphrasing doesn’t help. 

The weight on his chest swells.

Maybe he’ll need more than sleeping pills to get through this day.

He feels miserable, so he lets himself get dragged by one of his newer roommates, Lars, to a party. No one knows it’s his birthday, so it should be fine. 

One night couldn’t hurt.

.

It does.

Isak recognizes him right away. The broad shoulders, the dirty blond hair -- shorter and styled this time -- the long limbs, the large hands, the chiseled jaw, the infinite blue. 

_Even._

He’s in a sea of people, yet Isak spots him right away.

Even does, too.

He stops moving altogether. Time is suspended for a few moments. 

Even smiles. 

Isak’s dead heart skips a beat. 

“This is Isak, my new roommate,” Lars introduces him to a group of four, or five, or six. Isak can’t tell. He doesn’t care. He’s still staring at Even. 

Even is staring right back. He doesn’t say anything. 

“You guys know each other, or what?” 

“Something like that,” says Even, and Isak’s knees nearly give out. 

That voice. He forgot how deep Even’s voice was.

“Oh, you know Isak from Oslo?” 

Isak blinks. He didn’t know Even was also from Oslo. Even’s relaxed expression changes, as if he didn’t want Isak to know.

The conversation shifts away from them after that. Isak can’t tell what it moves on to. He’s still trying to process seeing Even here, of all places, in Trondheim, at a lame party for people who can’t afford a summer vacation. 

Even. Relaxed and carefree in a sea of people without his tangled headphones, and his dark clothes, and his sad eyes. Even, smiling and participating in dumb mindless party chatter. Even, leaning into some girl’s touch, her manicured fingers wrapped tightly around his bicep. 

His bicep. Isak’s face heats up. He turns around and makes a beeline for the bathroom. 

.

Even is there sitting on a step with a joint between his lips when Isak closes the door leading to the backyard behind him. 

It feels oddly reminiscent, serendipitous. But it’s mostly ridiculous.

“Wanna smoke?” Even says as he looks up, his eyes shining, and Isak is back to yearning like a seventeen year old. 

He sits down beside Even, leaving enough space between their bodies.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he waits for Even to do the talking. Even smiles and parties with people now after all. Surely, he talks a lot more too. 

He doesn’t.

He passes the joint to Isak, silently. 

It should feel weird. Sharing a joint with a person he hasn’t seen or heard from in years without uttering any words, a person who put their hand down his pants and kissed him softly before leaving his life altogether. But it doesn’t. Isak is careful not to touch Even’s fingers when handing him the joint back. 

“When did you move here?” Even finally breaks the silence. 

“A year ago,” says Isak, and he realizes it’s the first thing he’s said to him in a year and half. “You?” 

“The day after I came to see you.”

Isak chokes on the smoke. He coughs for a bit, and then for a while. Even’s hand comes up to tap him on the back. Isak doesn’t know how to tell him that it’s not having the intended effect. 

Even left him in that cold bed to go pack up his life and move to another city up north? Or did he stop by after he packed? Does it even matter? Why did he come over? He wanted one last hook-up before moving? But then he wasn’t exactly aroused that night, so that couldn’t have been it. Is that why he said that “he didn’t stay”? Is that why he said he wasn’t looking for love?

Isak’s thoughts are spiraling.

“Why did you come that night?” he asks, because he’d like to know. 

“Because I wanted to see you.”

Isak’s face feels hot. He decides that he doesn’t want to engage in this topic any further. Even might look happier overall, but he still speaks in riddles. 

“You like it here?” Isak asks instead. 

“Not really,” says Even. “But I think that’s about to change.”

Isak turns to meet Even’s eyes, but Even is looking at the ground. Isak feels like the pebbles under Even’s shoes. 

“Do _you_ like it here?” Even asks.

_No, but I think that’s about to change._

Lars and some girl interrupt their chat when they burst the door to the backyard open while making out. 

“Oh shit. Fuck, sorry guys! Please ignore us!”

They disappear into the bushes.

Even laughs first. Isak follows suit. It’s not really funny, but they laugh. Isak can’t remember the last time he’s laughed like this. 

When he’s finished, he finds Even staring. Isak blushes.

“What?”

“Your laugh.”

“What about it?”

“It’s nice.”

Isak snorts.

“Too much?” Even laughs too, bringing a hand to his face like he’s embarrassed. “Was that too much?”

“Does that work on other people?”

“Define work,” Even retorts, and it makes Isak laugh again. 

“Who knew you were such a flirt, huh?” 

Even’s face falls a little. “Yeah. Who knew.”

Isak sees it then. Flashes of Even’s old self. Of the version of Even he got to know before they both landed here. It’s still there, underneath the crinkled eyes and dimpled smiles. It’s still there. Isak can see it. He can see it so distinctly.

“Are you-” he catches himself blurting out, pausing.

“Hm?” 

“Are you still sad?” Isak asks quietly. 

And the question could be interpreted in so many different ways. It could be seen as a sexual proposition. _‘Can you get it up now? Wanna get out of here?’_ But his voice is too small for the question to come off as salacious. 

Even surprises him by nodding. Then he adds, “Are you?” 

Isak is moved by the sincerity, by the stupid honesty. They never talked about Isak’s sadness, but it seems that Even could see it anyway. 

Isak nods as well. 

The joint is finished and there’s no need to touch fingers anymore, yet Isak finds himself violently yearning for that little bit of contact.

He sits there on the dark step in the back of the house and waits for Even to maybe roll another joint. 

He doesn’t.

The girl whose hand was wrapped around Even’s bicep earlier opens the door and interrupts them instead. 

“Even, we’re leaving in five,” she says, before waving to Isak. 

Isak waves back awkwardly. 

The door closes and Even goes on to stand. 

It’s not even midnight. Why are they leaving? Who is she?

“My roommate,” Even says, peering into his thoughts again. “Anja.”

Isak nods. It’s stupid, but he feels flustered all of a sudden. This is the first mundane personal detail Even has shared about himself.

“Early morning?” Isak asks tentatively when he gets up on his feet, too.

“Yeah, uhm.” Even pauses. “It’s actually really shitty timing. I can’t believe it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m actually moving tomorrow.”

“What?” Isak blinks. It almost comes out as a yelp.

“Yeah, I’m moving to America first thing in the morning.”

“What? Are you for real?” Isak gapes at him. He can’t believe it. He can’t believe his luck.

“Yeah, I got a job there and I have to go.”

“What? How-” Isak feels worked up for no reason. “How do you even get a job in that country? Don’t you need, like, a lot of paperwork and stuff? And what do you even do, like-”

Isak pauses because Even is laughing quietly. 

“Are you- why are you laughing? Are you joking right now?” 

Even laughs harder.

“What, are you serious? Are you for real? What the fuck?” Isak shakes his head, but he laughs too. “It’s not even funny. What kind of joke was that?”

“Wouldn’t it have been messed up though?” Even continues, and he’s smiling so wide, Isak can no longer see his eyes.”For us to meet again a day before I have to leave again? Like in some star-crossed film?”

“What’s star-crossed?” Isak asks, his heart still pounding from Even’s little quip.

“Like Romeo and Juliet. Bad luck keeps them apart.”

Isak looks down. Why would a guy not looking for love bring up Romeo and Juliet. 

“More like bad decisions.”

“Their family feud was not their decision nor their fault. That was just bad luck.”

“I guess..” Isak shrugs. He looks at his feet. He looks at Even’s shoes. 

Suddenly, it’s awkward and tense again.

“So you’re not moving tomorrow?” Isak asks.

“I’m not moving tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Both Anja and I have an early shift at the coffee shop we work at,” Even explains.

“You work at a coffee shop.” Isak repeats.

“I do. The Kaffebrenneriet downtown.”

Anja opens the door again, this time wearing a jacket and throwing a crossbody body bag over her shoulder. 

“Even, I unlocked both our bikes. If you’re not out there in a minute, I’m leaving your ass here.” She says and Isak’s heart sinks. 

“I’ll be right out.”

_Right._

“You should come by sometime. To KB,” Even says. “If you want.”

Isak hums.

Even leaves as swiftly and quietly as he reentered his life. 

It feels like the wind got knocked out of him.

Isak sits on the step until his heart rate returns to normal. 

He opens his text messages. Jonas’ makes his heart hurt the most.

_Happy birthday <3\. I miss you. We all do. _ _  
_ _I still haven’t changed the netflix login. So you can use it if you want._ _  
_ _Have a little fun tonight._ _  
_ _She would want you to._ _  
_ _Love you, bro <3 _

.

“How do you know Bech?” Lars asks him the next day when he ambushes him in the kitchen. 

“Bech?”

“Even. Even Bech. How do you know him?”

_His last name is Bech?_

Isak shrugs despite his heart picking up immediately in his chest.

“Don’t know him that well.”

“For real? That guy is such a mystery around here. Was hoping you’d help me crack the code.”

Isak resists the urge to roll his eyes. He doesn’t care for gossip, so he just picks up toast from the toaster and heads to his room.

He spends the day _stalking._

He looks up “Even Bech” in every social media network possible -- which proves to be difficult when he’s deactivated his own accounts. He’s immensely disappointed when he doesn’t find him in the NTNU student directory. He even ends up googling him, but it’s all in vain. There are no traces of him anywhere. 

Isak eventually gives up. 

.

The second time he bumps into Even is at the grocery store. He’s buying coffee, while Even seems to be purchasing more filling nutrients with Anja close behind. 

“Isak, right?” she says with a smile. Her short auburn hair is nearly bouncing with excitement. Isak will never understand people who care this much about strangers.

“Yes. Hi.” he tries to smile, but it’s hard not to falter when Even is looking at him like that.

They barely address each other. Isak wonders if Even’s gray hoodie is part of his aesthetic or if he’s really just that cold. 

“You should come over tonight!” says Anja. “We’re throwing a little party at the apartment.”

Even winces behind her. 

“Maybe Even will leave his room if you show up!” she teases, and Isak begins understanding their dynamic. 

She’s Even’s Lars.

“Oh, uhm. I’m actually busy tonight,” Isak lies.

“No, really? That’s too bad.” 

Even looks disappointed, too. Isak wants to take it back immediately. 

“But uhm. Maybe I can get out of it. I don’t know.”

“Sweet!” 

Anja asks for his phone number and promises to text him the details. Isak feels odd. He’s been in this city for a year now, and it’s his first time giving away his phone number. 

Even doesn’t say anything, and Isak doesn’t address him either. Anja waves him goodbye and Isak heads back to the coffee aisle to put his item down before heading to the exit. 

.

“You going to Anja’s thing?” Lars asks when he stops by his bedroom door.

Isak is in sweatpants and a smelly t-shirt. He doesn’t have the energy to leave bed.

“Anja said she invited you.”

“It’s not my thing.” 

.

It’s almost midnight when Isak decides to go. He doesn’t give himself the option to change his mind. He throws on a random hoodie and his usual pair of jeans and heads into the night. 

He can hear the music as soon as he rounds the corner. He can see an open window and people smoking on the sill. He can hear laughter and loud party chatter. This was his worst idea ever. 

He’s about to turn around and head home, when a voice makes his stop dead in his tracks.

“Isak?”

It’s Even. 

“Even,” Isak says as he turns to face him. Even is sitting on the pavement a few buildings away from his own, tangled headphones in his ears. 

“What are you doing here?” they both say at once.

Even smiles. 

Isak follows.

“Wanna smoke?”

.

“They do this often?” Isak asks. He’s sitting next to Even on the pavement. 

“Hm?” 

“Throw parties you don’t wanna be a part of.”

Even shrugs but doesn’t deny it. 

“The rent is good,” he says. “And Anja’s good for me.”

“Hm.” Something pinches inside Isak’s chest.

“Not like that,” Even rectifies. “She gets me to leave the apartment sometimes. Someone in her family suffers from depression, so she knows how to deal with it.”

Isak nods. The words depression and family make him feel tense.

“Hope you get some free booze out of it at least,” says Isak.

“I don’t drink.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Me neither,” says Isak. It’s the first time he’s shared this fact with someone since that night. “Not anymore.”

Even turns to look at him. “What happened?”

“You first.”

Even tenses up. 

“Or not. You don’t have to tell me.”

It’s not like Isak was going to tell him either. It’s not like he’s even stopped to think about why he hasn’t been able to stomach a drop of alcohol since that cold April night.

“You always hang out here when this happens?” Isak asks, to change topics.

“No. Not really. Most times I go for long walks.”

“What’s different about this time?”

“I thought you might come,” Even says and it makes Isak’s heart drum in his ears.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Did you run here?” Even asks.

“Huh?”

“You’re, uh, sweating.” 

Isak realizes that he is. He feels embarrassed. He didn’t exactly run, but he did power walk for about thirty minutes. 

He nearly gasps when Even brings his hand to his forehead, seemingly to wipe away the supposed sweat with his thumb. Isak feels the need to take a shower for more reasons than one.

The touch lingers. Even’s thumb moves to Isak’s eyebrow. He caresses it gently. 

Isak doesn’t know where to look, what to say, what to do with his hands, his limbs. 

He’s flustered. He feels hot. 

“I’m glad you came,” Even says quietly.

Isak doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he stands up abruptly. 

“Uh, wanna walk or something?”

.

They walk. Isak discovers streets he hasn’t walked before. It’s not completely dark out, and it will only get brighter as the summer night goes on. 

The rustling of trees, the whistling of the wind, the distant and occasional car traffic. It all seems made for them, for this specific moment. 

“You go to NTNU?” Even asks and Isak nods. 

“You?” Isak asks despite knowing the answer.

Even shakes his head. “Not smart enough for that.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Even gives him a small smile. He then moves to fish his headphones out of his pockets, untangle them, and hand one to Isak.

They listen to a song Isak hasn’t heard before. It’s a rap song. It sounds old school, from the 90s. He realizes he hasn’t really listened to music in a while, in years maybe. He doesn’t remember deliberately putting on headphones to listen to a track since that April, maybe.

It feels nice. Walking side by side with Even and listening to 90s rap. It feels nice. 

They get close to his apartment, and Isak feels his pulse quicken. Should he tell him? What if Even insists on walking him home. 

“Uhm, I live around here,” he says.

“I know.”

Isak looks at Even. 

“I’ve been to Lars’ place before with Anja.” Even explains. 

“Right.” 

.

Even walks Isak home. All he can think about as they approach his apartment building is that he can’t breathe, and that he should have showered earlier, and that he doesn’t have condoms, and that he still has no experience. 

Even keeps stealing glances and the music they’re sharing doesn’t help. 

Isak can’t bear the thought of fumbling through yet another awkward handjob. He can’t bear the thought of Even seeing right through his lack of experience and judging him. 

Isak would probably come undone the moment Even kisses him. Will Even kiss him? What if Even kisses him?

.

Even kisses him. 

He pulls him by the elbow under a random large tree, presses him against a dirty wall, and kisses him without preamble. 

Like he can’t help it. 

Like he has to kiss him under this tree or else the earth would stop spinning. 

Isak blanks out before bringing his hands to Even’s face and deepening their kiss. Their kiss. It’s soft and hot and dirty all at once. Even’s arms wrap around his waist, and Isak has to make a conscious effort not to moan or burst through his pants. 

“Shit,” Isak sighs when they pull apart, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing. 

“Shit, indeed.” Even laughs quietly.

“What was that for?” 

“For all the times I held myself back.” 

Isak cups Even’s face and looks into his sad eyes.

“Why did you?” he asks shyly, he’s breathing hard.

“Didn’t deserve you. Still don’t.”

Isak’s heart hurts. He leans in and kisses Even. It’s slow this time around. It’s slow and soft and comforting. 

“Don’t say that.” 

Their kiss turns into a hug, a desperate hug. Isak still doesn’t know about Even’s wounds. But he knows that Even could never deliberately cause anyone any harm. He just knows it.

.

They stumble into Isak’s apartment, lips still latched onto one another, hands still roaming skin, breaths still mingling. 

None of his roommates are in, all of them at Anja’s party. Isak likes her more now, he realizes. 

Even kisses his neck and Isak yelps and jumps away.

“What?” Even laughs.

“Jesus, not the neck.”

“What do you mean, not the neck?” 

More laughter. More kisses.

Isak pulls back when they get to his door and pushes Even into the opposite wall.

“Wait here!” he says, out of breath, nervous, and flustered. His room is a mess. He can’t have Even in his room like that.

He enters the room and closes the door behind him. “One minute!”

“Are you serious? Isak, I don’t care.” He can hear Even laughing in the hallway. And what a beautiful sound. Isak wishes he could hear it on Sunday mornings, on Tuesday evenings, on rainy days. 

He throws clothes under the bed, tissues and trash into the bin, cracks the window open. 

“Isak, I’m coming in.”

“No, wait!”

Even doesn’t wait. He opens the door and walks in two strides until he’s in Isak’s face, his lips on his, his arm around his waist, his hand on his cheek, pulling his lips apart with his thumb. Isak feels like he’s about to faint. 

“Fuck,” he pants when Even lets him go. 

He presses their foreheads together, then says “I don’t care about the room. All I can see is you.”

Isak blushes.

“I need to shower,” he admits.

“I need to shower, too.”

“I don’t have condoms. I don’t have shit.”

Even laughs again, and Isak feels intoxicated by the sound, the sight, the touch. 

“We don’t have to go there,” Even says. 

“Where else is there to go?” 

Even drops to his knees and Isak’s heart drops to the floor. “Shit.” 

.

Even is not as sad as the first night they hooked up. 

At least, not in his body. 

Isak has no idea what he’s doing, but Even guides him through it with the noises he keeps making, with the way he throws his head backwards, the way his toes keep curling.

And it’s so rewarding. Seeing Even like this, having Even like this, in the palm of his hand, at the tip of his tongue, in the heat of his mouth. 

.

Isak traces a long and deep scar by Even’s hip, making him shudder. 

“What happened?” he asks.

“I did,” says Even.

Isak doesn’t know how to say that he wishes he could scar too, that he’d take a scar over feeling like an open wound. He doesn’t know how to say that he’s been in a “funk” for over two years, and that he wishes he could just scar already. 

Even can feel it, maybe, because he leans in and kisses him. 

They kiss for so long, Isak feels intoxicated.

Isak feels safe.

Isak feels sound.

He falls asleep in minutes. 

.

When he wakes up at five in the morning, Even is still there in his bed, facing him. 

Isak remembers how it felt to be left alone in bed. He remembers that Even doesn’t stay, that Even doesn’t love. 

He leaves his own bed and gathers his discarded clothes off the floor. He tiptoes to his living room, takes a shower, then gets dressed. 

He leaves the apartment and goes for a walk.

When he’s back two hours later, Even is no longer there.

He didn’t leave a note.

.

Isak sees spots Even from the window of his other roommate’s car, Peter. He went to Ikea with Lars to pick up a new entryway dresser and only realized he had to ride in a car a moment too late.

It’s been a while. He mostly rides buses and hasn’t been in a cab in years. So it feels odd, being in a car. But it’s not as awful as he thought it would be. Perhaps, he’s scarring, too.

Lars rolls down the passenger seat window, and nearly yells at Even. “Yo, need a ride?”

“No. Thanks though!” Even replies politely and with a perfunctory smile. But Isak can see that he’s nervous, bordering on panic. 

Perhaps, Isak leaving him that early morning made him resentful. 

“Come on, man. You live on the other side of town. We can drop you off.” Lars insists.

“I’m good, dude.”

Peter, behind the steering wheel, pinches Lars’ thigh as if to get him to drop it. 

Isak watches Even silhouette disappear behind them as the car moves. 

“The fuck you pinched me for?” Lars laments.

“Dude, you’re a fucking asshole,” says Peter.

“What the hell?”

“You know how he is with cars.” 

“What do you mean?! How am I supposed to remember?” 

“You’re hopeless, dude.”

Isak puts on his headphones and blocks them out. 

Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to know. At least not like this. 

.

They meet again two weeks later on a random bus in the evening. Isak feels ashamed. He feels bad. Even looks a little bit hurt, but not for too long. 

“Wanna come over?” Even asks tentatively. “Anja is off with her boyfriend this weekend. We could listen to music.”

The role reversal feels nice.

Isak exits the bus at Even’s stop. 

They walk side by side quietly until they get to the door. 

Then they’re kissing. Then Isak is giggling into neck kisses. Then Even is kissing his forehead. 

His room is a mess and Isak is endeared by all the art on the walls, all the scribbled pages on the floor, all the vinyls and films on the shelves. 

He doesn’t get to look for too long. He’s soon pushed into the bed and straddled, and he can’t quite breathe. 

They kiss. Isak thinks he purrs into the kisses.

But then Even gets off of him and walks back to his dresser.

“What are you doing?” Isak whines.

He bursts into laughter when he sees what Even brings back with him. A box of condoms, two hundred condoms to be precise.

“Oh my god?” Isak hides his face in his hands.

“I got this two weeks ago. Panicked at the store and ended up with all of these.” Even explains, and he’s so pretty when he tells stories, and when he smiles, and when he laughs.

He’s so pretty.

Isak reaches for him and kisses him deep and slow.

“I’ve never done this before,” he confesses. 

“We don’t have to,” Even says, visibly flustered and adjusting to Isak’s confession. “The condom box is just a joke.”

“I want to,” says Isak. “I do.”

“Do you want me to go first? I don’t mind.”

Isak shakes his head. 

Even kisses him. 

.

“Did I hurt you?” Even asks quietly. He’s wiping some of Isak’s tears. Isak doesn’t know why he’s crying.

“No, you didn’t.” 

“Then why are you crying?”

“I just-” Isak pauses. “I just feel a little sad right now.”

_I just feel like I don’t deserve to feel this happy right now._

“Am I making you sad?”

_Quite the opposite, actually._

“You’re not making me sad,” says Isak.

“No?”

“No.” 

.

Isak doesn’t stay. He untangles himself from Even’s limbs while he sleeps, and tiptoes to the front door. 

.

They meet again at another party. Isak won’t admit that he only went hoping to run into Even, but he doesn’t need to.

Even knows.

They both do.

They kiss in narrow hallways and in dark staircases. They hug under large trees and in deserted alleyways.

Isak thought the hunger would subside by now, but it only seems to grow bigger. He can’t get enough. He can’t be assuaged. 

He misses Even the moment he sneaks out of his apartment or out of his own room. He misses Even all the time. In the morning and in the evening and in every waking moment.

Isak wonders how he’s doing, how his days are spent. He smiles randomly during the day. He eats more consistently, walks more consistently, showers more consistently. 

He lives more consistently. 

His chest doesn’t hurt as much when he sees texts from Eskild or Jonas. He’s almost tempted to reply, to send a silly meme back. 

He almost feels like talking about him, _Even._ Like telling the world about him. Like telling _her_ about him. The guy he’s sleeping with and can’t get enough of. The guy he knows nothing about apart from his struggles with depression, but who keeps him warm and safe and helps him sleep at night. 

The guy who doesn’t stay, the guy who doesn’t love but who holds him like he wants to do both. 

_I met someone._ _  
_ _He loves puppies and gray hoodies and 90s rap._ _  
_ _He makes me feel like a good person._ _  
_ _He kisses me like I’m a good person._ _  
_ _He makes me want to stay._

.

“Stay tonight,” Even asks, a hand stroking Isak’s face. His eyes are so blue. “You can stay.”

Isak can feel his heart overflowing with tenderness, whatever that means. He wants to, he realizes. He wants this, whatever this is. 

He’s not scared of the dark cloud looming over Even’s head. He’s not scared of the rumors following him like a shadow. He doesn’t care. Whatever it is, Isak doesn’t care.

He wants everything good to happen to Even, only Even.

“Okay,” Isak finally answers.

“Yeah?” Even beams. He’s so beautiful when he smiles.

“Yeah.” Isak smiles shyly, bringing the covers up to his nose to hide his face.

Even laughs, then brings him closer for a kiss and then a hug.

“But you’re gonna have to let me go pee first.” Isak mumbles jokingly into Even’s chest.

“No, I’m never letting you go.”

“I mean it’s either that or I piss on your bed.”

“Too kinky for me. But I’ll take it.”

“Even!” Isak shoves him on the chest, but he’s laughing. “I’m just gonna piss.”

“If you’re not back in two, I’m alerting the authorities.”

Isak rolls his eyes. 

.

“You guys are so cute together,” Anja tells him as she ambushes him when he leaves the toilet. 

“Uh, thanks,” Isak replies nervously, bringing his hands to the front of his boxers to hide his nakedness. 

Another guy -- her boyfriend, Isak guesses -- is leaning over the kitchen island behind her, his arms wrapped around her stomach.

“I’m just really glad he found you,” Anja rambles and she sounds drunk. They both do. “He’s literally convinced no one could put up with him because of his bipolar.”

_Bipolar?_ Isak’s chest tightens. But he doesn’t let his panic show on his face.

“Oh my god!” She brings her hands to her mouth. “Did you not know? Oh shit. I thought he would have told you. I’m a piece of shit, I-”

“I did.” Isak interrupts her before her drunken outburst goes any further, even if he only assumed it was depression. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh thank god!” she giggles. Her boyfriend laughs too. “I mean, he’s so hard on himself. We only found out because his name is on the lease and we had to list out all types of history and stuff. You know?” 

She hiccups. Isak guesses she’ll regret everything she said tonight and that she’ll reach out in the morning to apologize via text.

He nods. It’s been over two minutes. Hopefully, Even comes out of the room and saves him from this awful situation. 

He’s about to walk back to the room, when she steps in front of him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s a good guy.” she says, and Isak feels embarrassed. He doesn’t need the ‘ _don’t hurt him’_ conversation. He would never hurt Even.

But Anja goes in a different direction.

“I’m sure you know already, but he didn’t mean to,” she says. “It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t in control. It was just bad luck.”

“What?” Isak feels confused and uncomfortable. 

“Poor guy though,” the boyfriend chimes in. “Can you imagine being responsible for the first and only car accident that killed someone in Oslo in a whole entire year?” 

_Oh._

Isak feels his recently mended heart break in new places.

_‘Like romeo and juliet.’_

_‘I’m just a little sad right now.’_

_‘I don’t drink anymore.’_

_‘Even is from Oslo’_

_‘Even can’t stand riding in cars’_

_Oh._

_Lea._

Even is his open wound that won't scar.

Even is the guy who lost control of his car in the middle of a manic episode and hit his sister, Lea. 

Even killed Lea.

.

Isak runs home in boxers.

  
  
  
  


.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it wasn't his mom. it was his sister Lea.
> 
> i /hate/ myself for this ending. first thing i had in mind writing this ANGSTY verse and i wrote everything else around it to get to it. it feels so so so cruel. but the theme is star-crossed lovers. two broken people healing each other and thinking they're nursing two different traumas finding out it's all connected.
> 
> now, is it true? is isak misinterpreting everything? is he jumping to conclusions? idk... see you in the last chapter.
> 
> thank you again for leaving comments and for talking to me. it made me feel so happy. thank you <3333  
> feel free to yell at me. *hugssss*


	4. Romeo & Juliet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's your poison of choice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, apologies for the ending of that last chapter <3  
> this was all supposed to be one long one-shot but i wasn't sure anyone would want to read it, hence the parts and hesitation.
> 
> split this chapter into 2. next one is the last. it's already written.  
> *hugss*
> 
> tw: discussions of past SA

Even is his open wound, Isak learns that night.

.

It’s abnormally bright in the room. Isak’s first thought is that the glare of the sunlight is too harsh for this time of day. The second is that he probably forgot to draw his curtains before falling asleep on his miserable twin bed.

The third is that Even killed Lea.

Isak goes back to thought number one.

He can’t recall how he managed to fall asleep or at what time. He blanked out the moment Anja’s boyfriend spoke those words and pulled the floor from under his feet.

He can’t remember the walk -- or rather run -- home. He can’t remember if he saw Lars, or how he managed to enter his own apartment without his keys, his phone, or wallet.

He doesn’t remember curling around himself in bed. All he knows is that he’s cold and still wearing the blue boxers Even had slid down his legs so skillfully the night before. 

He shudders. 

He suddenly feels like throwing up.

And he does. He runs to the bathroom and empties his stomach into the toilet bowl. He suddenly remembers throwing up on the sidewalk the moment he made it outside Even’s apartment complex last night.

He focuses on the pain and discomfort of the dry heaving -- as if he deserves it. Perhaps if he’s in enough physical pain, his whirling thoughts will take a backseat to the sensations overwhelming his synapses. 

He wishes he could empty his mind as well -- somehow leave the entangled mess in his head in this toilet bowl and flush it down just as easily.

But he can’t. He holds onto the seat until his knuckles turn white.

“Yo, you good?” Lars knocks on the door outside, inquiring with a worried tone Isak doesn’t think he’s heard him speak in before.

Isak remembers shoving him at the door last night, and leaving him dumbfounded and confused in the entryway before making a beeline for his room half-naked.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles painfully. 

“You did drugs or something last night, or what?” Lars asks playfully, an awkward attempt at dissipating the tension.

Isak doesn’t entertain him or his question. Lars eventually leaves him alone.

.

He spends the day in bed replaying conversations in his head. Moments, sounds, touches, whispers. It all makes his skin crawl. 

By the evening, he’s left with one terrifying thought.

_Does Even know who he is?_

Come to think of it, he’s never asked for Isak’s last name. He only calls him Isak. Surely, he must know Lea’s full name. If he’s been dragged to court, he must know and cringe at the Valtersen surname. 

Even might not have asked Isak for his last name, but he must know it. It’s easy to find him in the student directory after all. And while Even isn’t a student at NTNU, surely Anja or Lars must know.

Isak is in the living room before he fully forms the thought.

“Do you know my last name?” He asks a very puzzled Lars.

“What?”

“My last name. Do you know what my last name is?” 

“Uh, yeah dude,” Lars replies nervously, sitting up on the couch while seemingly wracking his brain. “I mean I can’t remember right now off the top of my head, but it’s on the lease.”

“You can’t remember right now? Have you ever referred to me by my last name to anyone?”

“What? Why? What the hell is going on?” 

Isak feels as unhinged as he must be looking right now.

“Forget it.”

.

Isak goes from shaking his head and considering asking Even directly in case it’s all just a big misunderstanding, to believing that Even knows who he is and that his sole mission is to shatter him beyond repair. 

Is Even a sick individual sent to taunt and torture him? Is he a metaphor for the perpetual punishment Isak deserves for putting Lea there that night? Is Even his own personal living hell? A lovely but poisonous concoction that’s sweet on the lips, but whose sole function is to ravage his insides one sip at a time? Is Even aware of his identity and carrying out a vindictive mission to make sure Isak suffers for ruining both of their lives with his selfish and childish feelings?

Isak doesn’t know. 

But it stings to think about it. It stings to think about how good it felt to think that he had found someone. Someone just for him, someone who knew how broken and rotten he constantly felt inside and who didn’t care, someone who didn’t judge him for rarely smiling, for rarely trying, someone who made him feel like a decent person worthy of being touched, and kissed, and fucked, and held. 

Someone who told him to stay.

Only for that someone to be the reason he felt so hollow inside in the first place.

It’s absurd. It’s absurd how he ran all the way here and guarded his heart and his mind for so long only to find himself in bed with his worst nightmare.

He goes numb. Almost as numb as the cold night it all happened. He stays in bed until it’s dark out again.

.

Isak doesn’t react when he sees Even under his door frame the following morning. He’s exhausted his emotional capacity for the week -- or rather, the year. He can’t feel anything. He barely looks up. He barely aches despite Even standing there and looking lovely in his gray hoodie. 

All this overthinking and he forgot to wonder how Even must have reacted to him suddenly disappearing half naked after an evening of mind-blowing sex. 

Isak still hasn’t asked for his keys, or his wallet, or his clothes, or his phone back. 

It makes sense that Even would come and ask for an explanation. 

Even didn’t have his phone number after all. Not that it would matter, because Isak didn’t even have his phone on him. _Ugh._ His thoughts aren’t making any sense. 

This should feel weird. Even being here out of his own volition, uninvited and standing awkwardly by the door when they never ever visited each other unprompted. The only times they ever met and snuck around were always initiated and agreed upon in person, after chance encounters at parties, random run-ins at grocery stores or empty late night buses. 

Isak is still wearing the blue pair of underwear he had on the night he ran away from Even’s place. He can feel Even’s eyes on him, examining him, his body, his room. But it’s not sexy or enticing right now. He would feel embarrassed if he wasn’t so defeated, so exhausted. 

Even is here in his dark and smelly room. But all Isak feels is...nothingness. He feels numb.

“I, uhm. Lars let me in,” Even finally speaks and, _gosh,_ it breaks Isak’s heart. “Hope it’s okay.”

Isak wonders what Even did when he realized he wasn’t coming back to bed. Did he come out and ask Anja and her boyfriend what happened? Did they tell him what they revealed to Isak? Did he feel heartbroken and shocked, too? Did he feel confused that Isak left naked with all of his belongings still in the room? Does he now think that Isak is completely unhinged?

“I haven’t heard from you since the other night and, uhm, I thought you might want your stuff back.”

Isak closes his eyes. He hasn’t fully looked at him yet. The curtains are drawn, but it suddenly feels too bright in the room again. 

“You don’t have to say anything. I get it.” Even says quietly, his voice breaking a bit at the end. Isak wants to lift his head and look, but he can’t.

“I was going too fast. I get that. I understand if you feel a bit overwhelmed. I tend to do that sometimes, get overwhelming.” Even takes a deep breath. Isak lets one out. Even has no idea what’s going on. “I must have freaked you out with all that staying talk. I get it if you want a break. Or something more permanent. I don’t know.”

Isak looks up, at last. Even looks remorseful and unsure. 

_You took everything away from me._ He wants to sit up and scream in his face.

But he can’t. Because part of him feels bad for Even, too. 

“I’m gonna go.” Even says. 

Isak doesn’t say anything. He just buries his face in his pillows. 

.

Part of him -- the vengeful and vindictive part -- thinks about keeping it all to himself for now until he gets himself together. About weaving himself around every single aspect of Even’s existence, then tearing it all apart one thread at a time. Part of him wants to stick around and ruin Even.

But the other part of him knows that Even is ruined enough as it is.

Isak thinks about when they first met in Lillehammer. He thinks about the clothes that didn’t fit, about the tangled and barely working headphones, about the sadness and brokenness Even carried with him everywhere like a life sentence. 

He thinks about the quiet gestures that meant the world to him at the time, about the umbrella Even had selflessly surrendered before running in the rain, about the closet he’d gently pushed him into. He thinks about all the little smiles Even had secretly shared with him like he didn’t deserve to smile, about the hands he’d put on him, carefully, so carefully. 

It makes him feel numb inside.

Is that why Even rejected and resisted him at first? Is that why he didn’t think himself “worthy” of Isak? Because of the brokenness? Because of what he did to Lea? Is that what Even was ‘a little bit sad’ about? Or was it because he knew who Isak was all along?

.

It’s been a few days since Isak last left the apartment. He’s surprised when he finally wakes up feeling something other than… _nothing._

He realizes that he wants to verify his brittle theory. But he’s unsure of where to start. How does one confirm the identity of his sister’s killer? 

Court documents? Perhaps Isak should have stuck around and actually attended the proceedings. Perhaps he should have stuck around and made sure that retribution was honored instead of just fleeing to the next town. 

Eskild? Jonas?

Eskild and Jonas did attend something. Isak remembers them driving Lea’s German boyfriend around, attending events, and protesting the court’s decision to let the guy go with a slap on the wrist because they attributed his reckless driving to a manic episode. They probably know who it was.

Isak remembers the confusion amongst his friends when he said that he didn’t want to know the identity of the guy, that he didn’t care. He remembers the hushed whispers and worried glances. He remembers them believing that he was about to blow up any minute now, that he was processing Lea’s death in his own way and that they should give him time. They couldn’t find a single good explanation for most of his behavior the days leading up to his move to Lillehammer. 

Because they didn’t get it. 

It didn’t matter _._ The identity of a random guy losing control of his car didn’t matter. What mattered was the reason Lea was there in the first place instead of in her flat in Berlin. Had she not been there, the guy could have just crashed into a streetlight or into pavement instead. 

That reason was Isak.

It was his fault and his fault alone. 

The identity of the driver didn’t matter at the time. But it does now. Isak wants to know. He wants to know if the universe is really punishing him or if it’s all in his head. But where does he start? He hasn’t contacted anyone or replied to any texts since they ambushed him in Lillehammer moons ago.

Does it matter? What will he do if it turns out to be true? To be untrue? Does it matter?

Will he take off to another city again? He can’t quite do that while in the middle of attending uni. But then again, maybe he doesn’t have to. He could move back to the student village, make sure to never step outside of his room again. They did live in the same city for over a year without crossing paths after all. 

It shouldn’t be that hard.

.

It is. 

The first time Isak sees him after Even’s impromptu visit, his knees nearly buckle under his weight. He’s at the supermarket buying pasta after Lars chastised him for missing his turn getting groceries this week. ( _“Is it because I forgot your last name, Valtersen? See, I went back and read the lease.”)_

Even is with Anja. She’s in an orange dress and he’s in his gray sweater. She looks mortified, as though finally remembering what she said to Isak that night. Even looks confused, hurt, and... _worried?_

Isak doesn’t look at either of them for longer than a beat. He turns around, abandons his cart in a random aisle, and power walks toward the exit. He doesn’t stop walking until he’s in his room.

.

He doesn’t sleep that night. He doesn’t sleep the following ones either. At one point, he considers stealing Petter’s -- his other roommate -- wine to dull his thoughts, but ends up downing three cans of red bull instead. He eventually goes on an extensive google search that keeps him up until the sun is high in the sky again. He digs up public records, official statements, and news articles covering the sole death in Oslo roads for the year. But none reveal either Lea or her perpetrator’s name. 

It makes sense that they would shield their privacy, but it feels unfair that he can’t access such critical information without having to subject himself to a scrupulous process. He doesn’t want to reach out to Eskild or Jonas. He doesn’t even know where he would begin explaining the situation he found himself in. 

Would his father know? Would his mother? 

_“It should have been you! She shouldn’t have lost her life that night. It should have been you!”_

The memory assaults him. It feels like a punch to the chest. He instantly coils around himself.

It’s too painful. Revisiting the night of the accident and everything else that followed is too painful. Isak hasn’t cried since the initial shock, since that initial phone call with his father. And he doesn’t feel like crying right now either. But the pain is still there, constant and pulsing under his skin.

Isak moved hundreds of miles away to avoid thinking about this, yet here he is. 

.

Isak decides that it doesn’t matter. If he were responsible for such an accident, the first thing he would do is change his name. So court documents do not matter. 

Whether Even Bech is indeed responsible for the light going out in his life or not doesn’t matter. He’s still responsible for someone else’s misery. It’s too ill-fated and ominous to carry on whatever they had going on. 

It’s too unpropitious. Isak could never look at Even without his heart shrinking in his chest and vivid pain shooting up in his veins. Looking at Even will never not hurt after this.

So it doesn’t matter that he’s secretly lovely and kind and hot. It doesn’t matter that he moved Isak like he’d never been moved before, that he ignited a fire within him where there’d been nothing but void before.

It doesn’t matter.

Isak will never see him again.

.

It’s difficult to enforce that, Isak quickly realizes. 

Lars asks questions. Anja texts him a few times, apologizing profusely, insisting that she did not remember what she said to him that night and that she feels awful. Other random people he ran into at parties while holding Even’s hand behind his back stop him at grocery stores, at the pharmacy, or when they see him on public transportation.

It’s suffocating. Isak didn’t realize how intertwined he had made their circles during those few blissful weeks. He knows that it’s only a matter of time before he runs into Even, before he has to feel everything within him crumble again.

.

It’s not as painful as he thought it would be. Or perhaps it’s because he can’t feel anything at all. 

He goes numb the moment he sees Even in his apartment that forsaken Saturday evening. He knew Lars was throwing another get together, but he figured he’d be safe in his room and that Even would not show up.

The sight of him throws him off entirely. Isak drops the Fanta can he’s just grabbed from the fridge on his way back to his room. It rolls on the floor loudly by his feet, but neither of them looks down. 

Even is wearing a gray hoodie, but not the one Isak likes so much. It’s a different one, in a darker shade of gray. It feels oddly fitting. His hair looks unkempt but soft, his mouth looks red like Even has been biting all day in anticipation. His blue eyes look dark and devastating. 

_Fuck._

“Do you want me to leave?” Even asks in a whisper, his voice deep, but wavering. Isak realizes that Even probably only tagged along with his roommates to have a chance to run into him and chat.

Isak doesn’t want him to leave, he realizes dumbly. It’s awful and unthinkable, but he misses Even. He misses him and his body. He misses the way Even makes him feel, the way his skin burns under his touch. The thought makes Isak wish he could disappear entirely, wish to be forcibly removed from this house, this town, possibly this universe. He doesn’t want Even to leave.

He doesn’t respond to Even’s question, instead looking away and trying to make his way back to the room, Fanta can long forgotten.

Even’s hand immediately wraps around his wrist, but it’s not a hard grip, it’s still soft. Even’s thumb brushes against his pulse gently. Isak feels like screaming. 

“Isak, you can’t ignore me forever.”

And he’s right. Isak wishes he could, but he knows he can’t.

“You want me to leave you alone? Is that what you want?”

Isak doesn’t have to answer. The fact that he won’t even look Even in the eyes should be indicative enough. 

Even lets him go and Isak burns where he’d been touched. 

“Okay.” Even says. “I’m gonna go.”

He leaves. And Isak stays up all night

.

“What’s going on with you and Bech?” Lars asks him the next day.

Isak seriously begins considering breaking his lease and moving out as soon as possible. He’s tired of having to answer Lars’ probing questions. He doesn’t owe him answers. He doesn’t owe him anything at all. 

“Nothing.” Isak mutters, visibly annoyed. 

“Even said he was going to find you last night, then he just left out of the blue a minute later.” 

_None of your fucking business._ Isak wants to shout, but he can’t. He doesn’t have enough energy to even do that. 

All he feels is numb. He doesn’t reply.

“Want me to stop inviting him around?” Lars chimes in, and it’s considerate in an infuriating way. 

“You can do whatever you want, Lars.” 

.

**Jonas (22:08)**

You’re rewatching Bojack? Everything good?

.

The text spreads something warm in Isak’s chest. He logged back into Jonas’ Netflix account just to see, just to check an inane theory. Would Jonas notice?

The truth is that the messages from his Oslo “friends” have started dwindling. They don’t reach out as much -- if at all. Granted, they’re probably tired of their messages going unanswered, of the cruel and unfair silence. It’s probably exhausting, reaching out and being vulnerable only to be ignored. Isak wouldn’t know, but he guesses that it’s probably hard.

He understands that they would stop reaching out, and that he’d eventually be forgotten. But it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t bum him out.

He let a small part of him hope that Jonas would interpret this anomalous Netflix log-in as an olive branch. Maybe he did. He wonders if Jonas knew he’d moved to Trondheim before Netflix’s security team gave his IP address away. 

Though he lets himself bask in the warmth of Jonas noticing him and reaching out, he doesn’t reply to his text. Because he doesn’t deserve to have someone to talk to about all of this. He read somewhere that talking about things makes people feel better. He doesn’t deserve to feel better.

.

Terje calls then leaves a message when Isak lets him go to voicemail after three or four attempts. Marianne is not doing so well, and it would do her a lot of good to see Isak. They understand that he “needs space”, but this can’t go on. This silence is “not sustainable”. Isak should let him know next time he’s in Oslo. He’ll take him out to dinner. They could catch up. Also, has he been staying over at the house during his Oslo visits? Terje is thinking about selling it. Marianne has been at the facility for over a year now, and while Isak’s contributions are helpful, he shouldn’t have to pay for his mother’s fees anymore. Selling the house would take care of it. Marianne doesn’t need that big house any longer, anyway. It’s not like anyone else is around- 

A pause. 

He didn’t mean it that way-

Isak throws his phone against the wall. 

He initially feels confused by the allusions that he’s been visiting Oslo, because he hasn’t. Also, what is this talk about Isak paying for his mother’s hospital fees? Did they have a savings account for him that Terje has been using on Marianne instead? 

But most importantly, how dare he talk about selling the house?

For the first time in a while, Isak feels rage. Pure, hot, blinding rage.

_What?_ The house? How could he even suggest that? That’s the house he grew up in. The only home he’s ever known. It might not have been much, but it was _their house._ Sure, many horrible things had happened in that house, but a few good things had taken place there, too. 

That one good Christmas eve celebration, the night Lea let him share her bed because he had a nightmare he was too embarrassed to share with their parents, the day Lea taught him how to ride a bike, the few occasional times their mother was lucid and happy and present.

That house wasn’t the happiest place in the world, but it was the only one that still carried memories of Lea, that housed mementos of her brief existence in this universe.

To lose the house would be to lose Lea forever a second time. Isak couldn’t bear it.

He couldn’t bear. He can’t stand the thought of it. 

.

For the first time in years, Isak drinks. He reaches for his roommate Petter’s bottle of leftover gin that’s been goading him for weeks now every time he did so much as cross to the bathroom. He feels enraged, so he pours the clear liquid into an inconspicuous coffee mug with palm trees on it and he drinks. He’ll replace it later.

It doesn’t hit him right away. 

It’s not until he’s outside with Lars and a few other people he can’t recognize, that he realizes he might be behaving a bit out of character. The cold air feels weird on his face. He can’t even remember changing out of his pajamas.

“Sweatpants? Love the confidence.” Some guy tells him, reminding him of his odd fashion choices.

“Where are we going?” he asks, his voice sounding distorted even to himself.

“’s party.”

“Who the fuck is Fredrik?”

They burst into laughter. Someone taps him on the back. Someone else high-fives him. He laughs too. He feels like he’s underwater.

The party is loud, much louder than the little get togethers he’d been to at Anja’s or in their own apartment. This is a proper house with multiple floors, rooms with their own bathrooms, an open layout, and a garden. 

_A garden?_ Isak hates it. 

A few people comment on his sweatpants like he’s _crazy_ for dressing so casually to Fredrik’s party. But it feels like a compliment, like they admire him for not caring. 

“How come I’ve never seen you around before?” a girl with wavy blond hair asks him with a flirtatious glint to her blue eyes. 

Isak has no idea who she is or how this conversation even started. 

“I don’t go out much,” he mutters. He feels nervous all of a sudden. 

He hasn’t had to reject girls and explain himself in years. A stupid idea blooms in his mind. Perhaps, he’s a changed guy. Maybe this is an opportunity to try out something new. Maybe he should just hook up with some girl and see what comes out of it. 

She leans in. Isak hates it immediately. He moves away abruptly, lets her bump against the wall dumbly. He doesn’t say anything. He just walks toward the kitchen, echoes of “what the fuck is wrong with that guy?” against his back. 

And the thing is he knows he doesn’t belong here. He knows that this was a stupid idea, but a night of worrying about girls hitting on him sounds better than a night in his bed thinking about his dead sister. 

.

He bursts into laughter when he sees Even in the crowd. It’s not funny, but he’s drunk and whoever is responsible for how things turn out in the universe is probably laughing right now. So Isak laughs, too.

Of course Even would be here. It’s “Fredrik’s party” after all. 

His legs move out of their own volition. His brain is no longer working, that much he knows. He only stops moving when Even’s eyes are abruptly on him, like he could feel him before seeing him. 

“Oh.” Even blinks like he’s surprised. 

He looks hot. Like really fucking hot. Isak’s mind is spinning. Or perhaps Even is spinning. They’re both holding plastic cups. They’re both swaying slightly, eyes hooded, cheeks flushed, hair a mess. 

“I thought you didn’t drink.” Even slurs his words, and Isak can tell he’s drunk right away. 

They both lean against the wall, facing one another.

“Ditto.” Isak garbles. 

“Sweatpants.” Even points out with his index finger like he’s naming objects and things he recognizes out loud.

“Had to look good for Fredrik.”

“Who the fuck is Fredrik?”

Isak laughs until his stomach hurts. Even laughs, too. And then they’re close. So close.

Everything is spinning. His head hurts, and his chest hurts, and his heart hurts. But he can’t stop laughing. 

“You look really fucking hot,” Isak says after a while. Then he moans when Even’s hands grab him by the waist. “Where are our drinks?” he asks.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Even mutters before leaning in. 

Isak meets him halfway for a wet and messy kiss. And it hurts. _Gosh,_ it hurts. But it hurts _so good._ Even’s hands grab him hard, pressing him against the wall like he wants him to feel the hurt and weight of his silence. Isak takes it all, the pain and heat of it all. His hands wander under Even’s shirt, pressing the pads of his fingers against the muscles of his back while Even’s right hand toys with the waistband of his goddamn sweatpants. They kiss, with tongue and teeth, chests and groins flushed together. 

It’s so dirty and so desperate that a girl taps him on the shoulder to tell them to get a room. 

“Fuck you!” Isak shouts egregiously over Even’s shoulder, displacing his anger and conflicting emotions yet again.

Even laughs like he’s fond of this belligerent version of Isak before taking him by the hand and dragging him away from the main room. 

“That’s homophobic as fuck. I don’t stand for that shit. Fuck that shit!” Isak is still yelling and thrashing about like a spoiled child when Even closes some door behind them. 

It’s suddenly just the two of them. The party echoes in the distance behind the door like a far-flung dream, and Isak is shocked by how loud his heart is thudding right now. 

“We made quite a scene.” Even says, his voice is hoarse, his mouth is ruined. 

He looks gorgeous. It’s unsettling.

“She wouldn’t have said shit if it was a guy and a girl.” Isak insists on his homophobic claims. He holds onto it because he doesn’t even want to think about what he’s doing, what he’s allowing to happen. He must be out of his mind.

“Maybe.” Even comes closer. He crowds him against the door. His breath is a mix of whiskey and candy. “Maybe she’s just prudish. There’s a wet spot at the front of your sweatpants.”

Right. Isak can feel it. It’s embarrassing. They’re both incredibly aroused judging by the weight against Isak’s leg. It’s painful. 

“Maybe she should just mind her own fucking business,” he barks. He wonders how Even can still find him attractive after all this yelling.

“I’ve never seen you so… _animated.”_ Even smiles. Isak wonders if Even is always this confident and charming under the influence. “I like this other side of you.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me.” 

_There._ There it is. The turning point. It’s true. Isak could bare his heart to Even right here, right now, and leave him bleeding in a room that belongs to some guy named Fredrik. He could just tell him that he’s drinking himself to oblivion because the one guy who’s ever made him feel something or look forward to waking up in the morning has probably also killed his sister and doomed him to a life of misery. 

He could just break him right here, right now and get it over with. 

But Even brings his warm hand to Isak’s face, cupping and stroking it gently. And it melts the vindictive thoughts away almost immediately. Isak feels like drunken mush in his arms. 

“I’m dying to know you. Can’t you see?” he says as he strokes Isak’s cheek. 

“You’re crazy.” Isak sighs because he’s flustered and he doesn’t know what else to say, then bites his tongue when he realizes what he’s just said. 

Even’s eyes go dark, darker than he’s ever seen them. 

“Is that why you ran that other night? Because I’m crazy?” The accusation hurts them both, Isak can tell. Anja must have told him that she let that slip, maybe. He should use this opening to tell Even the truth. But he can’t. Not when Even is looking this drunk, this raw, this hurt.

“No! Fuck off.” Isak splutters because what else could he say?

“Fuck off?” 

“Yeah, fuck off.” Isak repeats before burying his hands in Even’s hair and pulling him into a deep kiss. 

Even kisses back, uses his hand to tilt Isak’s head at unimaginable angles. He ravages him, makes him whine and moan from simply being kissed. Isak doesn’t think anyone has ever been kissed this passionately, this urgently.

“No, _you_ fuck off.” Even mutters into Isak’s neck before licking all over his jaw. 

Isak wraps both arms around Even’s neck, bringing him closer before wrapping one leg around Even’s thigh. He grinds down on it. Even lets out an obscene sound. It keeps him going. 

They must make the sight, latched at the lips, moaning obscenities, and humping each other’s legs like dogs in heat. But Isak doesn’t care. The friction feels too good. 

The pain is blinding, intoxicating.

Isak pulls at Even’s hair until he whines in pain and decidedly slides a hand under Isak’s waistband, making him whine right back. All it takes is Even kneading the skin there for a second for Isak to burst in his underwear like a pubescent teenager. 

“Oh my god! Fuck. Holy shit-”

Even fists his other hand in Isak’s hair and pulls hard, following up with expletives just as colorful. 

The silence that follows the heavy breathing is deafening. Still, they hold one another, like they don’t know how to let go. Isak’s head is thrown back against the door, his eyes pressed shut, while Even snuggles his face against Isak’s chest.

“I came,” Even says dumbly, and it makes Isak laugh for a second, then another, before the immensity and absurdity of what he’s just done dawns on him. 

He untangles himself and pushes Even away gently.

“This never happened,” he says without meeting Even’s eyes.

“What?” Even blinks at him, visibly confused.

“This can’t happen again.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want it to.”

“Isak, you were grinding down my leg a minute ago.” 

“We’re drunk. This is stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid to me.”

Isak moves to fix his hair and his clothes, ignoring Even’s visible dismay and reaching for the door handle.

“At least give me a reason.”

_You killed my sister._

Isak settles for, “I don’t owe you one.” 

.

Isak spends the morning hunched over the toilet bowl, dry heaving. He hadn’t eaten the previous night, so most of his trips to the bathroom are to regurgitate the water he attempts to drink to rehydrate. 

Lars suggests painkillers and soda to calm his upset stomach because _“vomiting all day doesn’t make you a man, Valtersen. It just makes you dumb”._ But Isak refuses. He doesn’t deserve to feel better. He deserves this pain. He’d rather take on this abdominal nightmare and make countless trips to the toilet to empty the nonexistent contents of his stomach, than to think about his predicament. 

What was he thinking hooking up with Even in some random guy’s house? What was he thinking downing all that gin and reaching an orgasm in his gray sweatpants like an idiot just from grinding against Even’s leg? What was he thinking kissing him and touching him and laughing with him? Just _what the fuck?_

Every time he closes his eyes, he’s assaulted by flashes of skin, close-ups of Even’s eyelashes, of his closed lids, of the freckles on his cheekbones, of the blue in his eyes while he was gently caressing his face. Every time he lies down, he hears himself moaning down Even’s throat and uttering obscenities. He hears Even’s grunts, Even’s fast breaths, Even’s soft lips wetting his own. 

Isak cannot escape him, cannot escape his own actions. His mind is torturing him, but his body responds to the memories in completely different ways. He basks in shame all day, then does his best to resist the need to touch himself once in the shower. 

.

> **Jonas (16:19)**
> 
> Not judging, but british baking show?
> 
> What’s going on

.

_Fuck it._

* * *

**Jonas (16:23)**

It’s a good show

You took up baking?

No

How’s trondheim?

How long have you known im here?

Hmm i knew you were gonna make it into NTNU  
We’ve been talking about it for years   
You’re smart i knew you’d get in

…  
I could have changed my mind about going   
How’d you know really?

Mahdi’s brother goes to NTNU and we might have asked him to look you up in the student directory

...How’s mahdi

You can ask him yourself

I dont think he’d care

Everyone cares Isak  
Everyone   
Whenever you want, we can pick it up right where we left off

* * *

That’s a lie. 

Everything has changed. Entertaining this illusion of normalcy is nothing but harmful. Things cannot return to the way they were before, because he didn’t bear this guilt before. It’s impossible.

It does not matter how much Isak wishes for some of his easy camaraderie with Jonas back. It cannot come back and he cannot share his thoughts with him right now.

He can’t share them with anyone. No one would understand.

.

Petter’s sprawled on the couch watching some Spanish TV show on Netflix when Isak crosses to the kitchen. He’s getting some chips and soda and heading back to his room when he gets called out.

“Valtersen, do you know by any chance what happened to my bottle of gin that was on the fridge?” Petter asks.

They’ve been calling him by his last name in the flat since Lars said Isak had a breakdown over them not knowing what it was.

Isak had just rolled his eyes and moved on.

_Shit._

“Uhm. Crap,” Isak laments. “That was me. Sorry. I meant to replace it, but I completely forgot.”

“That’s fine.” Petter laughs. “Had some friends over and they were disappointed when it turned out I didn’t have the bottle of gin I promised them.”

“Sorry dude. I’ll go out and get you some right now.” 

“Nah, don’t worry. I don’t really like gin anyway. Someone brought it for one of our house parties and it’s been on that fridge ever since.”

Isak smiles awkwardly. He doesn’t think he’s ever exchanged more than four sentences with Petter.

“Didn’t peg you as a gin guy.”

“I’m not. I just needed a drink,” Isak explains.

“We have beer in the fridge.”

“Needed something quicker.”

Petter sits up, two creases lining his forehead. 

“What’s up? Something on your mind?”

“No, just needed a drink, you know.”

“What are you doing right now?” Petter asks.

“What do you mean?”

“You busy? Wanna have a drink?” 

Isak hesitates. He wants to say that he does not drink, that the other night was a glitch. But he doesn’t want to give Petter more reason to believe him odd and pitiful.

“Uh, why not.” Isak shrugs. Surely, it will distract him from his thoughts. 

.

Petter introduces him to whiskey, and it’s as disgusting as Isak thought it would be. 

“This is poison. Why the fuck would you willingly drink this?” Isak winces as he downs another sip.

Petter laughs. “It’s an acquired taste. But I could say the same about you and coffee. That shit is disgusting.”

“It keeps me up though. Helps me be productive.” 

“You think?” Petter raises an eyebrow. “I personally think you’re just addicted to it and that you’d do just as well without it if you train your body to go without it.” 

“I’m not addicted to coffee.”

“Then how do you explain the fact that you willingly drink that poison every day, multiple times a day.”

“It might not taste great to everyone, but it’s not poison.” Isak retorts. “Poison doesn’t always taste bad.”

“What’s poison then?”

“I don’t know? Shit that hurts you. Shit that’s bad for you?” Isak muses. He’s a bit tipsy he realizes as he leans back into the sofa. “If anything, I think the stuff that’s sweet and that tastes good is more damaging than stuff like coffee. Because the taste blinds you to the damage.” 

Petter laughs. “That’s deep, man.” 

Isak finds himself spiraling in his head. 

“Is that why they call it a poison of choice?” Petter meanders. 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know, your favorite drink or vice, or whatever thing that’s bad for you but that you do anyway because it makes you feel some type of way. Your poison of choice.”

“Like self-inflicted harm?” Isak asks genuinely.

“Bro, what the fuck?” Petter laughs. “Nah, nothing that serious. Just like what’s your liquor. Are you a beer guy or a whiskey guy or a gin guy?” 

_I’m an Even guy._

Isak realizes then that he’s very drunk and that he should go back to his room. 

“’m gonna go to bed,” Isak slurs, his head spinning when he stands up.

“Alright, Valtersen. It was nice chatting with you. You’re cool when you’re not hiding and stuff. We should do this more often.” 

_Right._

_._

The ceiling is spinning above his head when he lies in bed. He can’t concentrate on his phone screen, but he tries. He considers texting Jonas or maybe calling him. He misses him. 

He’s very drunk. He should probably throw his phone out of the window if he doesn’t want to regret tonight. 

Maybe he should text Eskild, reply to one of his weekly attempts at reaching out. But he doesn’t think he could handle his energy. Eskild would know he’s drunk right away. He might book a train right away and come up to visit to make sure he’s okay. He couldn’t do that.

Or maybe Mahdi? It sounds like he knows he’s in Trondheim. It might be a good opener. But then what if he ends up visiting his brother and asking to meet up. That’s too risky.

Eva? Eva is probably his safest bet. She doesn’t blow things out of proportion and she’d probably keep it to herself if Isak asked. She’s always been the most nurturing in their group. He feels bad every time he remembers how he treated her during his Jonas phase. Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe he could reach out. Then who knows, maybe she’s drunk right now as well? She’s always had an affinity for drinking on Friday nights. Is that a shitty thing to think? Maybe it is. He should take it back. 

Isak feels like apologizing for a half thought when he hasn’t talked to Eva in years. It makes him want to laugh. He hovers over her contact name. _Eva_. 

But then his eyes stop at the one directly underneath it. Blood runs cold in his veins. 

**_Even (Trondheim)_ **

What? Since when? He’s never exchanged phone numbers with Even. He’s never had a way of contacting him. How long has he had Even’s number?

* * *

**Even (Trondheim)** **  
****23:28**

When did we exchange numbers?

We didn’t

?

I put my number in your phone when you left it here  
You dont have a passcode on your phone   
You should get one

You went thru my phone?

I didnt  
I just put my number in there

Why

In case you wanted to text

Why

In case you wanted to meet

I dont want that

Ok

What are you doing right now?

Drinking

I thought you didnt drink

Ditto

Do you want to drink with me?

Wtf?

Come

you just said you don't want that

i lied  
come

Right now?

Yes

Are you sure

Yes

* * *

“What do you want?” Even whispers hotly into his neck. They’ve been kissing for what feels like hours. 

They’re in his bed, Isak on his back, and Even between his legs. He’s wearing the gray sweater Isak loves so much. He almost wants Even to keep it on. 

“Fuck me,” Isak whispers right back. His fingers are in Even’s hair. His hair is so soft. Isak wants another kiss.

“I’m not gonna do that.” 

“Why not?”

“Because you’re drunk as shit.”

“I’m not,” Isak protests, frowning.

“You are. The last thing is for you to hate me even more than you already do. I can’t do that to you. No matter how much I want to.” 

Isak feels himself deflate inside. Is this what he was going for? Luring Even into bed for drunken sex to give himself another reason to resent him later? Is he that transparent? And why is Even putting himself through this if he knows that Isak resents him? 

“I don’t hate you,” Isak says softly. And it shocks him when he realizes that he means it. He wishes he could hate Even. It would make this so much easier, wouldn’t it? “I don’t hate you.” He repeats. 

“Then why does it feel like you do?” 

_Because I’m trying to._

Isak pulls him close, kisses him deep. He buries his hands and arms under Even’s gray sweatshirt and breathes him in. He wants to live here, right here in his arms.

And it hurts to see him, to hear him, to touch him. It hurts to be here with him, but Isak wants it more than anything. 

Even is his poison of choice, his wound that won’t scar.

It hurts, but Isak deserves to hurt. He deserves to ache and to hurt. And he’ll soak all of it up for as long as his mind lets him. 

“Why does it feel like I’m hurting you?” Even asks him quietly, his fingers gently carding in Isak’s hair, his blue eyes soft and sad, while Isak’s thumb pads his bottom lip, mesmerized.

_I’m hurting myself._

“You give yourself too much credit for someone who’s not fucking me.” Isak deflects because he can’t get into that.

“I’m serious,” Even glowers, before softening again. “What’s wrong, baby?”

_'baby.'_

_You._

“You’re being silly.” Isak rolls his eyes.

“Why are you drinking all of a sudden?”

Isak flinches.

“Why are _you_?” 

“To dull the shit I’ve been feeling lately,” Even replies like it’s a confession.

“What shit?”

“This shit.” Even kisses him on the mouth. “This shit.” Even kisses him on the forehead. “All of this shit.” 

Isak’s heart is beating fast under Even’s body. It’s beating too fast. Even is drinking because of him, because of the rollercoaster Isak is putting him through. 

Even is not looking for love. Yet here he is alluding to ‘feelings’ he wants to dull, ‘feelings’ he wants to kill.

_Do you want to kill me, too? Is that what you want?_

“Why do you want to dull it?” Isak asks. He feels numb. 

“Because I don’t deserve to feel it.”

_Is that why you’re not looking for love? Because you don’t deserve to feel it?_

“That’s bullshit,” Isak says. “You deserve to feel what you feel. You deserve to feel anything that you feel.” 

Even sits up. His blue eyes are red and wet around the edges. He looks shaken. Isak forgot that Even is drunk too.

“Trust me. I don’t deserve anything.” 

“Why? What did you do?” Isak pushes, because why not.

“You know what I did, Isak.”

Isak flinches. “What?” 

“Anja told you. Didn’t she?” 

Isak’s jaw goes slack. He feels floored. Like his mattress has given way and he’s free falling. 

“That’s why you left. That’s why you’ve been treating me like shit ever since. That’s why you won’t talk to me without downing five drinks. That’s why you can no longer stand being with me. Because you know what happened.”

Isak blinks several times. Words escape him. 

He resorts to silence. 

“I never meant for that to happen,” Even pleads. “There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t feel this crippling guilt. There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t wish I could trade places with her. I would do it in a heartbeat. I’ve traded places so many times before. I switched with _him,_ and I went to the courts, and I confessed, and I lied under oath, and I accepted the permanent record, and I moved cities, and I sent money every month, and I never stepped foot in a car again. I did everything I was asked to do. But my heart is still broken, Isak. I wish it were me instead of her. You have to believe me! I do. It’s the only wish I let myself have. Gosh, knows how many times I tried to end it. But I came back every time. Every single time, no matter how creative I got. So many times in fact, that I started to believe that she’s the one keeping me alive, that she’s bargaining with whoever is in charge up there to keep me here in this fucking hell. Like, “no, that fucker doesn’t get to have such an easy out”. Like she’s telling me to live and hurt and wander around this earth because she no longer gets to. Because why else am I still here? What the fuck is the point? Just what?! So that’s why, Isak. That’s why I want to dull it. That's why I didn't come upstairs all the times you invited me. That's why I didn't kiss you the first fucking time I saw you in Lillehammer in that shitty restaurant we both called home. That’s why I don’t want to feel it. Because I don’t deserve to. Because she doesn’t get to. So why the fuck should I?”

_Fuck._

Even is crying, and Isak cannot breathe. He doesn’t know what to do. He flounders to sit up in his drunken state. It’s absurd. The cat is out of the bag and Isak should just double down and tell him his side of the story, but he knows Even couldn’t take it. He fumbles on his knees to gather Even in his arms, to comfort him, as preposterous as it sounds. Even is confessing to the killing of his sister, and Isak is pulling him into his chest to comfort him because he can’t stand his pain. Because he can’t stand the thought of Even trying to harm himself and end his life because of the guilt he carries with him. Isak can’t stand it. He wants to take all of his pain away. 

But Even pushes him away.

“Don’t. I don’t want your pity. I don’t fucking deserve it. I don’t-”

Isak pulls him into his arms anyway. “Shut up,” he says. “Shut the fuck up. Just shut up.” 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying too, until his own tears land on his bare arms where they’re wrapped around Even. Even who’s holding onto him like he’s drowning in a wild sea and holding on for dear life. Holding onto him like he’s never been held before, like he’s never been comforted before, like he’s never had a chest to cry into before.

_You deserve to be held, to be kissed, to be fucked, to be comforted, to be asked to stay. She would want you to._

Isak says the words to both Even and himself. 

“I don’t hate you,” he mumbles into Even’s hair because he feels like he has to. “I don’t hate you. Baby, I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you.”

He repeats the words until he feels Even relax in his arms, until he, himself, stops shaking from their combined heartbreak, until they both lie down on Isak’s bed, still clinging to one another. 

They fall asleep in minutes.

For the first time in weeks, Isak sleeps.

.

Even is still in his arms in the morning. He looks soft, his eyelids puffy, his cheeks slightly swollen from all the crying. But he looks beautiful. So beautiful, it hurts.

He thinks about Even’s theory, about Lea keeping him alive because he needs to live for the both of them. It’s befitting. Isak would believe it if he weren’t a cynic who does not believe in the afterlife. 

This isn’t Lea’s doing. This is the universe punishing both of them. Isak and Even. Even and Isak. This is the universe intervening and bonding them cosmically, dooming them to eternal misery. The universe linking them through tragedy, and having them fall for one another unknowingly until they both meet their demise. 

Like Romeo and Juliet.

The universe made sure that Even was still here, because he had to make Isak ingurgitate the poison with him. The same way Romeo and Juliet tried to escape their predicament by turning to potions and tinctures.

They’re bonded cosmically, Isak knows it. 

He knows he won’t be able to fight it. 

So he doesn’t.

When Even awakes with a hangover and a broken heart, Isak will kiss him on the mouth, kiss him on the chest, kiss him on the heart.

Up in flames we go. 

Isak accepts his capital punishment, because he’ll take a heart on fire over a dull one that no longer beats, because he’ll take an epic tragedy over a pointless life of dulling the pain to avoid the pain. 

But unlike Romeo and Juliet, Isak will bear it alone. He won’t make Even take the poison with him. He’ll do it alone, suffer in silence alone. Because Even has ached enough for a lifetime. Because if it weren’t for Isak’s breakdown, Lea would have never flown to Oslo from Berlin in April in the middle of the semester. Because if it weren’t for Isak’s selfishness, Lea would have never been there in that street that night. She would have never jaywalked so mindlessly while chasing after her dumb, drunk, fucking mess of a brother. She would have never been there in the middle of Even’s lane. She would have never died so pointlessly, shattering both of their lives irreversibly upon impact. 

It was all Isak’s fault.

And he’ll take that secret with him to the grave. Not because he doesn’t want to live through Even’s wrath. But because he knows Even won’t be able to bear just how deep their connection runs.

Because Even would never forgive himself.

Isak will never tell.

.

He’s in the shower when he hears Petter greeting Even in the living room. He runs out with a towel barely hanging around his hips to stop the impending crash. 

“Even, right?” Petter asks smugly. “You spent the night with Valtersen?”

_No._

The devastation in Even’s face upon hearing the surname is instant. The horror is instant. 

He turns just in time to look Isak in the eyes.

“V- Valtersen?” 

"Ev-"

Both of their hearts break all over the kitchen floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: discussions of past SA and SH  
> (wrote this while listening to 'Dawn Chorus - Thom Yorke' and let me tell you, 0/10 don't recommend)
> 
> i'm so sorry for the angst. i got some feedback about how this is not salvageable, and i understand. i really do. but i also want to show that it might be. if two people can get through this, it's them. i can't write a verse where they're not meant to be. 
> 
> obviously Isak is romanticizing tragedy which he shouldn't. because love shouldn't hurt. because why be romeo and juliet when they can be isak and even.  
> Even is in a dark place. but Isak might still be an unreliable narrator. Even said many things during his tirade which we'll wrap up in the last chapter. 
> 
> finally, thank you for still being here and for leaving comments and chatting with me and making me happy and giving me something to look forward while we navigate this alternate reality we've all found ourselves in. 4 years and we're still here. can you believe???  
> tusen takk <33


	5. First Thought, Best Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Blessed are the Forgetful."
> 
> Revelations, explanations, healing, healing, healing, love, love, love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so LATE :((((((. I've been rewriting this for the past 6 months or so. (you'll probably be able to tell rip)
> 
> I MISS THEM
> 
> I hope some of you still want to know how this story ends. it's long. but it had to be. i wanted to give them a chance. darkest timeline and all. if any two can make it, it's Isak og Even.
> 
> it starts out ANGSTY, but banter follows. i promise.
> 
> tw in end notes.

Even is not his Romeo, Isak learns that day.

.

They’re not very good at communicating. Isak and Even. It’s an asinine thought to cling to, given what’s just transpired in his kitchen. But he does all the same.

Just like Isak had several weeks prior, Even bolted out of his apartment in a blink. The door closed behind him before a tear managed to weave its way down Isak’s cheek. No further questions, no further exclamations following his guttural rendition of his surname.  _ “Valtersen?!”  _

Even just vanished, and Isak can’t seem to get past how similar they are, even in -- especially in? -- the face of tragedy. 

“What the fuck was that? What did I do?” his clueless roommate, Petter, asks because he can immediately tell that he’s spoken out of turn. 

_ You just broke his heart.  _

_ And mine.  _

.

Isak could have chased after him, he reckons. He should have. Maybe. The towel was still holding onto his hips, as though it knew that it wasn’t time for it to succumb to gravity. Nudity would not bode well with a public dramatic chase after all. 

But for some reason, gravity only got the best of him _ ,  _ his muscles, his bones. His legs wouldn’t move past the kitchen door frame. For the longest time, Isak just stood there staring at a strange pattern on their hardwood floor. It looked like an owl. Or maybe a chair. He just stood there staring, while Petter asked question after question, as though he deserved to be “briefed”, as though he deserved some sort of explanation, as though he hadn’t just poured poison down both of their throats. 

_ “Valtersen?!” _

Isak suddenly wants to rid himself of his surname. He wishes he could start going by something else. Eksett maybe? Eksett sounds like a good surname. 

He’s still in the towel, still in the kitchen, when Lars comes into the apartment.

“Drama with Bech again?”

The words get him to snap out of his ‘funk’. Isak glares at his roommate. “What?”

“I was at Anja’s place. Even came in looking like he’d just seen a ghost then disappeared just as fast.”

.

Even has been ‘gone’ for several days now. Isak experiences a feeling he thought he had unlearned.  _ Worry.  _

He feels worried, anxious, scared. Not for himself, not about his grades, or his bills, or the rent, or about being found and forced to deal with what he’s been running away from. No. He worries for a person who is not himself. He worries about Even.

And it feels foreign and scary. Because Isak has spent nearly two years ridding himself of that very feeling. Dulling it so that it would never creep up on him. He’s trained himself to stop worrying about his mother, his father, his old friends, his old roommates. He’s trained himself to keep everyone at arm’s length. 

Isak learned to shut everyone out and only worry about the next day, the next homework assignment, the next exam, the next shift at work, the next meal he’d make and eat. He learned to only worry about things he could control. Things he could afford to not have any ‘feelings’ about. 

But then came Even.

Isak is worried about Even.

Isak cannot control Even. Isak cannot control his worried feelings about Even.

Isak should have gone after him. 

_ And say what?  _ He asks himself.

_ Yes, I’m Isak Valtersen. You killed my sister Lea two years ago and you ruined my life. Yet I can’t seem to resent you because I feel so bad for you and I’m so drawn to you, and I kept all of this mess to myself rather than tell you, because all of this is my fault and I deserve to live with a knife lodged between my ribs and I don’t want you to hurt yourself and I- _

Isak could master the art of communication and still not be able to make sense of their predicament with words alone. Nothing could have soothed Even’s mind at that moment. Nothing. 

Perhaps with distance and time, Even’s mind would soothe itself the same way Isak’s had. 

But then again, Even’s mind is probably not very kind to him. Isak’s isn’t either. But certainly, having bipolar makes things a bit harder.

Isak worries. He thinks back to Even’s teary confession from the other night. He thinks about how Even has tried to take his own life several times, about how heartbroken and ruined he feels every waking moment. He thinks about the toll such a revelation must be taking on his already weary mind. 

Isak worries, and these Google results are not helping. He can feel his fear grow by the minute, his breath now shallow and shaky. Perhaps reading dozens of articles about bipolar and triggers wasn’t his most brilliant idea. 

Isak feels sharp pain in his chest he hasn’t felt in years. Isak doesn’t want Even to harm himself. Isak doesn’t want Even to feel any more pain. 

Because it was Isak’s fault after all. If it weren’t for him, Lea wouldn’t have wandered the snowy and slippery streets of Oslo in the middle of the night. Even’s car might have still swerved given the snow and low visibility, but it wouldn’t have taken her life. Because she would have never been there in the first place. 

If it weren’t for Isak, Even would have survived the night with a few scratches and a life lesson to never drive at night when the weather is dreadful. If it weren’t for Isak, Even would be a happy young man with bright blue eyes and a silly bad driving story to tell at parties. He wouldn’t be this damaged, this miserable and heartbroken. 

It’s all his fault. And Isak needs to find Even and tell him. He needs to confess that Even didn’t do anything wrong, that if he wanted to punish someone, he should aim his wrath and loathing at Isak, not at himself. 

On the eighth day, he calls Anja. His heart thuds in his chest the entire time. He’s never been good on the phone -- the dial tone alone enough to bring his heart rate up and keep it there -- but he couldn’t bear the thought of waiting for a text back. 

Anja picks up as if she’s been holding the phone and waiting for his call. Even is not at their apartment, she says. He hasn’t been for over a week. But Isak already knew that. Lars has been asking and updating their entire apartment. 

“Has Even called?”    
_ No.  _

“Did he say anything about where he might be going?”   
_ No. _

“Did he take his stuff from the apartment?”   
_ No.  _

“Did he pack a change of clothes?”   
_ No. _

“What about his charger? His wallet?”

Isak pauses because he realizes his voice has gone an octave higher, when he realizes that he’s panicking and letting everyone know that he’s panicking. He can hear Anja’s prolonged sigh through the phone.

“He’ll be fine, Isak,” she says. “It’s not the first time he’s just disappeared.”

“This is not like the other times.” Isak grits his teeth. 

“Listen, I don’t know what happened between you two, but he can look after himself. I promise.”

“Do you seriously think your promise means shit to me right now?” Isak stops himself, realizing how harsh he must be sounding. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Anja interrupts him. “I get it.”

“I’m just worried he might-” Isak stops again. “What if he-”

He can’t say the words.

“Isak…”

“Just because he was fine all those other times, doesn’t mean we shouldn’t check on him  _ this _ time.” 

Anja remains silent on the other line. Isak can hear her breathing, can almost hear the whirring in her brain. 

“I honestly don’t know where he could be,” she confesses after a while. “But I have his mother’s number. If you want it? Her name is Liv. She still lives in Oslo, I think.”

.

Isak doesn’t call Even’s mother. But he saves her number as ‘Even’s mom’. It feels weird having an adult he’s not related to in his phone book. 

He’s still staring at the digits when he gets a call from his part-time job. They want to know where he is. 

_ Shit.  _

“I’m sorry. I completely forgot. I-”

He gets fired, because it’s  _ ‘not the first time, Valtersen’ _ . But he doesn’t care. He hated working at the library anyway. 

Isak skips dinner and looks up  _ ‘what to do when a person is kind of missing’ _ on Google. 

He drinks some of Petter’s gin for liquid courage, then picks up the phone. He calls hospitals in the vicinity and asks if they’ve admitted an “Even Bech” or a tall John Doe with blue eyes in the past week.

He holds his breath the entire time, only letting it out each time he hears ‘no’ from whoever just ran the search for him. The relief only lasts a second every time. 

He calls police departments. He calls mental hospitals. 

He considers filing a missing person’s report, but the absurdity hits him then. Is this how Jonas and Eskild felt when he just vanished from Oslo? Isak had reacted in the exact same way when things stopped making sense for him. He had vanished, but he’d been fine all along. Even is probably fine, too. Isak is just paranoid and ridden with guilt. 

This is stupid. 

.

The following day, Isak dials the strange number after smoking a joint Lars offered silently.

He can’t believe his call log. He’s sure he’s never called anyone before all of  _ this.  _

“Hello?” Her voice is sweet, warm, and slightly worn out.

_ This is Even’s mom. Even is someone’s son.  _

Isak coughs. He panics. “Uh, hello. Is this Mrs. Bech?”

“Uhm. This is Liv Bech Næsheim. Who am I speaking to?”

_ Bech Næsheim. _

“Uhm. Sorry if this is weird. But my name is Isak, and I was wondering if, uhm, if you’ve heard from Even lately. Like, if he’s there with you or something.” 

The silence is heavy. It tears through him. 

“Oh sweetheart,” she sighs at last, and Isak recognizes pity and familiarity in her voice, like she’s used to receiving these phone calls every once in a while. “I haven’t heard from him. But I’m sure he’s alright.” 

.

Even is alright. 

He still has all his limbs. His eyes are still blue. He’s still bundled in three layers too many. 

He’s still lovely.

Even is alright.

Isak blinks for the longest time at the door, his feet glued to the hardwood floor. 

“Even,” he says his name, because he’s not sure what else to say or do.

Even looks like Isak feels. Broken and tired and scared.

“Is that Bech?!” Lars shouts from the living room. “Holy shit, man. You had all of us freaking out. Where were you?”

Isak, suddenly angry and worried Even might make a run for it again, wraps his hand around Even’s cold wrist and drags him to his room. 

.

They sit on Isak’s bed. A third person could fit between them. Isak’s laptop is open and propped on his desk. He hopes Even doesn’t see all of his open tabs about bipolar disorder.

But then again, Even won’t look up from his own feet. 

Isak doesn’t know where to start. His heart is beating fast and hard in his ears.

“I thought…” he mumbles then stops. “I was scared.” He confesses.

“My mom called,” Even speaks at last, and everything in Isak rattles. “She said you sounded scared.”

“I thought… I thought you-” 

“I thought about it. I’m not gonna lie,” Even says, and his voice is shaky but firm at once. 

“You thought about it,” Isak repeats. 

“But I couldn’t do it. I…” Even pauses, then looks up at Isak hesitantly. Isak feels hot tears in his eyes. “I thought of you. I didn’t want you to blame yourself.”

The confession breaks Isak’s heart. He doesn’t know what effect Even intended, but Isak does not feel any better. He looks away, turns away from Even, then brings his sleeve to his face to wipe tears that haven’t spilled yet. 

He won’t cry in front of Even. 

“How long have you known?” Even asks casually.  _ How long have you known that I killed your sister. _

“Uhm. The night with Anja.”

“Fuck. Of course. Yeah.” Even says, mostly to himself, as though frustrated he hadn’t pieced things together earlier. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Isak shrugs. “What could I possibly say?” 

“How can you even bear to be near me?” Even’s voice goes higher this time. He sounds frustrated, but also guilty. So guilty. 

“I tried to stay away. I tried to hate you. But I can’t. I don’t.”

Isak can feel Even’s eyes boring into him. He focuses on his own hands, fiddles with his fingers. He doesn’t know what Even came here for, but he decides that he won’t lie to him. 

“That’s fucking crazy, Isak. You know that, right?” 

That hurts. Isak knows that he’s not reacting the way a sane person would. But of all people, he somewhat expected Even to maybe be kinder. 

“I know it’s fucked up. But I can’t help how I feel.” Isak shrugs again. But his heart is burning and his vision is blurry. 

It’s quiet after that. Isak feels cold all of a sudden. He’s in shorts and a t-shirt, and the window is slightly cracked. Even seems to notice. Because he takes off his jacket and drapes it around Isak’s shoulders.

What an absurd gesture. 

Isak doesn’t refuse it. He can barely move. 

“I’m gonna leave Trondheim,” Even says next. 

“What?”

“It’s a small town. We go to the same supermarket. We have the same circle.”

“I don’t have a circle.” Isak frowns, looks up at last with big defiant eyes. 

“Well maybe you should.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that this is a small place and we’re bound to run into each other. So I’m gonna leave.”

“You don’t have to.” Isak chokes out, but he knows that Even is right. He knows. 

“One of us has to. I have nothing here. I just came here because I wanted to be far from Oslo. But you. You have school. You’re working toward something. I just work at a coffee shop.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“Like what?” Even counters, and his eyes are blue and deep and unyielding. 

_ Like you don’t matter.  _

“I have a cousin in Bergen,” Even continues. 

“Bergen.”

“Yeah. I’ll just go there. Start fresh.”

Isak sits with the new piece of information. He wonders if Even is divulging his next location as a courtesy so that Isak can avoid it, or if it’s a warning to stay away. 

Isak doesn’t know what to say. He goes for perfunctory. “That’s nice. You deserve a fresh start.”

“How could you say that?!” Even snaps. 

“Say what?” Isak responds nonchalantly. “That you deserve nice things?”

“Isak, your sister is dead because of me!” 

Ouch. That hurts. Even is trying to deliberately hurt him, to incite a specific reaction from him. But Isak won’t give in.

“It was an accident. You didn’t mean to.” Isak counters, stubborn as ever even though everything inside him feels broken.

“Does it matter? She’s still dead, Isak.” 

Isak flinches and looks away this time. He wants to be angry, too. Instead, he just feels like crying. 

“Just. How don’t you hate me? I don’t get it.” Even presses.

_ I tried. _

“Have you tried hating you?”

“I don’t have to try, Isak.”

_ Shit.  _ Isak thinks. He thinks and thinks and thinks.

“Hating yourself won’t bring her back.”

“Isak, just what the fuck?”

“You said it yourself,” Isak looks at his own hands again. Even’s large wool scarf is covering his legs. Isak doesn’t remember Even draping it over his legs. When did Even cover him with his scarf? Why is he being so considerate while stabbing him with words? “You served time. You have a record. You did everything right. You tried to make justice happen.” 

“Do you even believe a single word you’re saying?” Even presses.

“I don’t know what I believe. I just know that it wasn’t your fault.”

“Then whose fault was it, Isak?”

“MINE! Okay?!” Isak finally snaps, and his chest heaves with anger and guilt. 

“What?” 

“It was  **my** fault! All of this shit is  **my** fault! If it weren’t for me, she would have never been in that street that snowy night to begin with. She would have been in Berlin. Berlin, Even! A thousand kilometers away. If anything, I should be apologizing to  _ you _ for making your life a living hell.”

“Isak, what the hell are you talking about?” Even blinks at him, shaking his head repeatedly. “It wasn’t your fault. Are you serious right now? You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I’m serious. It was  **my** fault. _ I  _ acted like a dumb selfish piece of shit and lied to Lea about mom’s situation deteriorating cause I knew it was the only thing that would make her come home. I made her fly to Oslo because I didn’t want to be alone anymore, because dad was gone and I was living with strangers, and Jonas was back with Eva, and mom was alone and I was so angry that Lea got to run away to fucking Berlin and leave me behind with all this shit. Then I got shitfaced when she found out I lied and I ran away. She was outside running in the snow looking for me, Even. Me! I killed her. It was me!”

Isak didn’t know Even’s eyes could look like that. Just how many shades of blue live in his eyes? And when did Even move from the bed to the floor? When did he get on his knees and when did his hands cup Isak’s face? When did Isak start crying? When did Even start brushing his tears away? Why does it feel so good? Why does it hurt so good?

“Isak. Listen to me. You have to listen to me carefully. Okay?” Even’s voice is back to being deep and low and reassuring. He’s no longer cruel. He’s no longer mean. His thumbs are caressing Isak’s cheekbones. It feels good. Isak feels drained. “It wasn’t your fault. None of this is. Okay?”

“Yes, it was.” 

“No, it wasn’t.” Even’s tone is firm, unwavering. “None of this is on you. You weren’t behind the wheel.”

“It was snowing! You had no visibility! You couldn’t even see her. You just lost control of the car! She ran in the middle of the road!” 

Isak hiccups. The pounding moves to his head. His vision is blurry. He’s cold and hot and confused. His body is giving up on him. He feels upset and he doesn’t understand his emotions. He doesn’t understand Even’s reaction. He was expecting that he’d have to beg for forgiveness, yet here he is arguing back and forth with Even about technicalities. 

Even who moves off the floor to wrap his arms around Isak, to comfort him, to rock him back and forth. 

“What the fuck?” Isak exclaims weakly, but accepts the comfort all the same. 

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

.

Isak’s mind eventually settles, his thoughts tamed and no longer raging. Even’s still in his bed, still facing him, caressing his face, carding his fingers through his hair, soothing him. Isak nuzzles closer.

“What the fuck is wrong with us?” Isak says softly, because he realizes that his throat hurts, still. 

“I know right?” Even smiles and Isak doesn’t feel that he deserves that smile. 

“Do you hate me?” 

Even frowns. “I could never.” 

“Me neither.”

Even looks deeply concerned, the way Isak used to look at his own mother sometimes. He looks sad and scared. 

Isak reaches for Even’s face, watches his eyes flicker closed then open up again. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs. 

“Like what?” says Even.

“Like I’m crazy.”

Even tears up, brings Isak’s palm to his mouth and kisses it once, twice, three times. It’s wet and it’s sad.

“I’m sorry. Isak, I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m sorry, too.” 

.

“Can you stay? Just for tonight.”

“Okay.”

_. _

Isak wakes up in an empty bed. He’s still wearing Even’s jacket. It smells like him. His sheets do, too. His scarf is still there, too.

A note is carefully deposited on his pillow. 

> **_It didn’t snow that night. It wasn’t your fault. I’ll do the right thing. I’ll fix it._ ** **_  
>  _ ** **_I promise._ **

.

Isak doesn’t pay the note much attention at first. But then, it just creeps up on him, lodges itself in the confines of his mind.

What does Even mean by doing the right thing? What will he fix? And most importantly, why is he denying the presence of snow that horrible night?

Isak tries to ignore it, but then realizes that a quick Google search could ease his mind. 

He types up the date and looks up the weather. 

He navigates to other websites, because that first one was wrong, obviously. The weather was awful that night, he remembers it. He remembers it so clearly. It was snowing uncontrollably. There was barely any visibility outside. It was effectively a snow storm. Isak remembers that much. 

He remembers running in his sneakers and his light jacket, but that was probably because he was drunk. One’s tolerance of cold temperatures is fairly high when intoxicated. That explains why he wasn’t wearing a thick winter jacket or snow boots. 

Lea was wearing light clothing as well, but that’s just because she lives in Berlin and forgot how cold April can get in Oslo. 

It all adds up. These websites are wrong, or they’re simply showing wrong information because it’s so far in the past that no one cares. This is probably just a default dataset. They probably delete older data points. 

But then, why do temperatures differ from day to day. Why are all these websites saying the same thing? Why are they saying that it was fairly warm actually. 

Isak doesn’t understand. He’s confused and upset. This doesn’t make sense. 

He picks up the phone before he can think further. 

* * *

**Jonas**

It was snowing that night   
Right?

Hey Isak!   
What? What night?

The night Lea died   
There was a fucking snow storm   
Right??!   
I came over after and it was snowing really hard you could barely see outside

Isak… what’s going on?

Just answer me   
It was snowing and the road was really slippery right??????

No…   
It didn’t snow that night. The roads were fine

Wtf

Whats going on?   
Do you wanna talk about it?   
Can i call you?

* * *

“Isak? Oh my god, am I dreaming?!” Eskild nearly yelps.

Isak allows the full-body hug, having prepared for it mentally for the entire train ride to Oslo. He reckons that it feels a bit nice to be held when one’s heart feels so sore. Maybe part of him missed the closeness and obnoxious displays of affection.

He can’t quite believe that he deliberately made the trip to Oslo.

“What owes us the pleasure? An in-person visit from baby Jesus himself?!” 

Eskild studies him for a moment. Perhaps Isak looks even worse than he thinks, for Eskild switches his tone shortly thereafter. 

“Come in. You’re not going to stand at the door forever.”

There’s a new couch in the living room. The walls look freshly painted, too. Other than that, kollektivet feels exactly the same. 

“Can I crash here for a day or two?” Isak asks, embarrassed. “I can sleep on the floor. You know, new couch and all.”

Eskild looks at him hard and long. He looks like he’s about to cry. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Isabell. This is your home. Besides, we got this couch like two years ago.”

_ My home. _

Isak appreciates that Eskild doesn’t ask any more questions, especially knowing that he’s certainly burning with them. He appreciates the little gestures, the unwrapped toothbrush on the bathroom sink, the Fanta can on the coffee table, the clean socks next to the folded Jesus t-shirt Isak used to wear so very often at the end of the couch, Eskild and Linn bickering in the kitchen while cooking him his favorite pasta dish. 

It feels like Eskild has been waiting for him to come home since the day he left. 

It feels nice to not be alone. Even right now. _ Especially right now? _ It feels sweet. So sweet, in fact, that Isak gets choked up while eating. He coughs. He covers his face with his hands. He bursts into silent tears.

Eskild stands up to hug him. Linn holds his right hand. Noora holds his left. 

Isak sleeps wedged between Eskild and Linn in Eskild’s bed. For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t dream. He just sleeps. 

. 

Jonas is there in the morning. The hug is long. So long. Isak hugs him back after a minute.

“It didn’t snow that night,” Isak asks, although it isn’t really a question anymore. 

They’re lying on their backs on the grass, sharing a joint Jonas has been keeping for him apparently. 

“No, it didn’t,” he says. 

“Was Lea even running after me that night?” 

Jonas shakes his head. “You were drunk and you passed out at my place way before any of it happened.”

“But she was outside looking for me?”

“No. I called her to say that you were with me,” says Jonas. 

“Why was she outside at night then?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe she went out for a smoke? She had her pack and lighter with her.”

Isak closes his eyes. He’s not sure he’s ready to hear specifics yet. Maybe not ever. Jonas and Eskild were there when it all unfolded. They went to the police. They read the files. They know how she was found, which wounds and injuries she sustained. Where she bled. Where she broke. 

Isak doesn’t think he can bear to hear all of that. 

“Fuck,” is all he can say.

“Yeah.” 

“So I just made all of this shit up in my head?” Isak asks himself, mostly.

“PTSD presents itself in numerous ways. You know.”

“PTSD,” Isak repeats. He takes a long drag, lets it burn in his lungs. 

“The brain comes up with weird coping mechanisms to protect its owner sometimes.”

“I thought I killed her, Jonas.”

“You felt guilty, so you made up a scenario to convince yourself of your guilt.” 

“But I was. In so many ways, I  _ was  _ guilty.” Isak insists. 

“You weren’t. It was just shit luck.”

“Shit luck.” 

They smoke silently for a while. Isak forgot how comforting talking to Jonas could be, how easy and freeing. He wonders what would have happened if he’d accepted his help earlier. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone to Lillehammer, maybe he wouldn’t have met Even. 

“What’s on your mind?” Jonas asks, as though he can feel him slipping away.

“I ran away,” says Isak. “I was such a fucking asshole to all of you because I made up a weird scenario in my head. That’s fucked up.”

“No one blames you, bro. Nobody. You know that, right?”

“Do you think I need help?” 

“What do you mean?”

“Like therapy and shit.”

“I think we all do in a way,” Jonas responds casually. Perhaps he remembers Isak’s attitude toward mental health and getting help. Perhaps it’s why he doesn’t try to sell it harder, because he knows Isak might reject it. “But it couldn’t hurt, right?”

“You sure?” Isak laughs a bit. It’s not funny. But he’s sure that therapy does in fact hurt sometimes. 

“I mean, you know. After. After all the work, it feels good and nice. Or something.”

“So eloquent, huh.” Isak smiles again. He feels so much lighter.

“You’re still a little shit, I see.” Jonas laughs, throwing some grass he plucked at Isak. 

“One and only.” 

Jonas readjusts so that he’s leaning on his elbow. He looks at Isak, like he’s considering his next words. 

“What made you start thinking about all of this again?”

Isak thinks about it.

“I met him.”

“Met who?”

“Even.”

Jonas’ eyes widen, the recognition instant in his features. “Even?” 

“Even Bech,” Isak offers. His heart pinches when he says his name. “Or Bech Næsheim. I don’t know his exact surname.”

Jonas doesn’t pretend not to know the name. And Isak’s heart sinks, as though part of him was hoping that it wasn’t going to be true. That it wasn’t Even’s name in those court documents, that Jonas was going to tell him it was someone else, that this was all a big misunderstanding. 

Sealed and done. It was Even.

Isak closes his eyes and takes a long drag. 

“How did you meet?” Jonas asks carefully. 

“You met him, too,” Isak says. “Remember when you came to Lillehammer at the restaurant? The guy who chased you away.”

It takes Jonas a moment. “Wow.” 

“Yeah we worked in the same restaurant. Then we met again in Trondheim. We had no idea, until recently.”

“Fuck!” Jonas sits up and sighs. 

“Yeah fuck, indeed.” 

Jonas starts rolling them another joint, as if the situation warrants it. Isak feels lighter after confessing. He decides he wants to confess further.

“And you know the worst part?” he says. 

“Hm?”

“The worst part is I love him. I love him so much.”

.

Marianne looks older, her face creased with new lines that weren’t there the last time Isak saw her. 

He winces at the memory. It always feels like an assault on his psyche.

_ ‘It should have been you. She shouldn’t have died. It should have been you.’  _

She hugs him for a long time, her whole body trembling, hot tears spilling from her eyes and staining the nice shirt he borrowed from Eskild.

Isak feels overwhelmed. He begins to wonder if she really said those words to him or he made that up, too. 

“My son. I’ve missed you. I can’t believe you’re here.” 

The love in her eyes rattles him. He never thought she’d react this way to his presence. He wasn’t even going to stop by the facility. Eskild all but forced him to visit, repeating that it’s the right thing to do. 

She only lets go of his hands to caress his face, running her thumb over his cheeks, and repeating “my handsome son, my beautiful son”. 

He quickly begins to feel guilty. Guilty for never visiting, for never calling, for cutting her off entirely. 

“You can stop sending money now, you know?” She says, looking slightly embarrassed but also grateful. “You don’t have to. You never had to. I’m doing okay. I’m moving back home soon.” 

Isak never sent her money. He doesn’t know what kind of misunderstanding has both her and his father thinking that he’s been sending money over, but he doesn’t want to get into it now. She looks content with her version of the facts.

He focuses on how her hands feel around his wrists, on the love in her eyes. He almost feels like asking  _ ‘For me? This is for me? The tenderness in your eyes is for me? You don’t hate me?’ _

.

The woman at the reception smiles at him warmly. “I knew you’d visit her sooner or later. I’m very glad you did.”

Isak blinks, confused in this stranger’s faith in him. He decides to ask.

“I’m sorry. But how do you know me?” 

“You’re Isak Valtersen, right? You signed your name in the visitor’s log.”

He nods. 

“I’m Thelma. We’ve been in touch through the phone? I’ve been cashing the payments you sent over for your mom.” 

Isak frowns. Someone has been sending money in his name, pretending to be him. His thoughts stumble in his head. Who could it be? Jonas knows he would hate that. Eskild is to broke to do something like that. Who could it be?

Isak thinks he knows. He decides to confirm it. 

“Right. By the way, I changed my phone number recently. I should give you my new one.” 

“Oh really? I can get it changed for you in the system right now.”

She pulls an iPad, types up his name, then hands him the device. 

And there it is, Even’s phone number under his own name. 

Isak has come to memorize it. Even’s number. 

His heart beats hard and fast in his chest. 

“Are you okay?” Thelma asks, probably because his face has gone white. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

* * *

**Even (Trondheim)**

Can we talk? 

* * *

Isak doesn’t really expect a reply. At least not right away. He could add some context to his sudden request, but he feels that text is not enough of a vehicle to convey his exact feelings. 

Eskild texts to ask how it went with Marianne. Isak almost shoves his phone right back in his pocket, but then decides against it. He won’t ignore people who care about him any longer. He won’t put off doing the right thing any longer. He texts Eskild back. 

Isak walks for most of the day. He walks past their house and stands there for a little while. Can a house still be called a house if it sits empty of life? His mom mentioned moving back earlier. Isak wonders if he should change the plate listing out all of their names. Or would that be even more painful for his mother? 

Isak walks past Nissen, past the skate park, and all the places he’s been avoiding all along. He reminisces about his old life, about how simple things used to be. 

It’s past three o’clock when he decides to go visit her. He has to, he realizes. 

It takes him a while to find her grave. He feels numb when he does. The guilt slowly creeps up on him again, but he does his best to push the thoughts away. 

Still, Isak feels bad for never visiting before. He feels bad for bringing pathetic wilting flowers. He’s not even sure what Lea’s favorite flowers were. 

They look wretched next to the eclectic bouquet that’s been left there. It’s all different types of flowers Isak cannot name in different colors. It’s a bit ridiculous, but he thinks Lea would appreciate that assortment more than the sad bouquet he bought last minute. 

Isak sits on the grass. He closes his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he says once, twice, thrice. “I’m so sorry, Lea. I’m sorry.”

He stays there, repeating the words like a mantra. 

When he opens his eyes, the colorful bouquet is staring him in the eyes. It looks like the person didn’t know what to get, so they just got everything. Every flower in every color. 

The flowers look fresher than his own. Whoever dropped these off probably did so a few hours ago. 

Who dropped it? Isak wonders, but he thinks he knows.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. The notification sends his heart jumping.

* * *

**Even (Trondheim)**

**15:55**

on the phone? 

I don’t know

Where are you?

Oslo

Oh   
Me too

* * *

Even is there twenty minutes later. 

They sit atop a hill not too far from where Lea is buried. The wind blows. The leaves rustle. Isak feels cold for more reasons than one.

“What are you doing in Oslo?” Isak asks. He fists his hands in the tall grass in front of him to occupy his nervous system.

“Taking care of a few things before going to the police station on Friday,” Even answers matter-of-factly. “I have an appointment at three”

He’s wearing dark jeans and a light jacket that rustles with the wind. His hair is being pulled in all and every direction. His eyes are blue. The skin on his hands is cracked. He looks lovely. 

“Why are you going to the police station?” Isak asks.

“To make things right. To fix it.” Even says, still not looking at him. 

_ “What things? What do you need to fix?!”  _ Isak wants to ask, but he feels that Even will tell him in due time.

“Did you leave those flowers by her grave?” he asks instead. He hears Even’s sharp intake of breath.

Even nods. 

“Have you been paying my mom’s fees?” 

Even nods again. 

“You’ve been using my name.” 

Even looks down at the grass. 

“You’ve known my name all along,” says Isak. 

“After I got out, I became obsessed with making things right. I walked past your house all the time. I saw the plate. I knew she had a brother named Isak. I knew her last name, too. They wouldn’t accept payments from non family members.”

“You knew my name,” Isak repeats.

“But I didn’t know it was you when I met you. I didn’t know your last name. I swear.” Even pleads. “Or maybe I did and just didn’t want to believe it.”

Isak runs a hand over his own face. 

“When we met in Lillehammer, I had no idea you were from Oslo. For the longest time, I did my best to avoid you because of your first name and I didn’t want to tempt fate. But then I convinced myself that the universe couldn’t possibly be this fucked up.”

“But you didn’t know it was me,” says Isak. “You didn’t know I was Lea’s brother.” 

Even shakes his head. “I hope you can believe me.”

“I do.”

Even looks him in the eyes then. Isak looks back. It’s true, he believes him. 

“Why are you going to the police?”

“To tell them the truth,” says Even.

“What is the truth, Even?”

Isak holds his breath.

“It wasn’t me.”

The sky above them tilts. Isak feels like he went from the top of the hill to the very bottom in the blink of an eye. He feels like a broken compass, spinning, spinning. 

Still, he doesn’t let it show. He takes a deep breath and waits.

“At least not exactly. That night, I got a little bit lost. I was hypomanic, acting a bit recklessly, drinking a bit too much, smoking a bit too much. I could feel myself slipping. My friends were looking at me weird. I got into a fight with Sonja, my ex, and I didn’t want her to take care of me. So I called my mother. My father showed up instead.”

Even pauses, blinks a few times, winces the way Isak does when his brain forces a memory on him that he does not wish to relive. 

Isak wishes he could hold his hand, but is it sane to hold the hand of a person who’s about to break you? 

“My father. He- I was so out of it that I didn’t realize he was drunk when he came to pick me up. I mean I should have known. He was always drinking. But still, I didn’t realize what was happening. At least not until the accident. I mean I was still myself. I remembered most of it. I wasn’t fully manic. I was just being a bit reckless. You know? I was in the backseat at first. It was awful. The screeching of the tires. I will never forget that sound. I remember leaving the car. I remember running to her and holding her in my arms. She wasn’t moving. Why wasn’t she moving? I remember screaming. I didn’t understand where I was until he told me to come to the front seat. I did. He was screaming at me. He said that we needed to switch seats. I didn’t understand right away. He said he couldn’t go to jail, that he couldn’t lose his important job. He said he wasn’t going to pass the breathalyzer test. He said that I did it, that I was driving. But I wasn’t driving. I couldn’t drive. My motor skills are near non-existent when I’m manic. But he said that mom needed him, that she didn’t have a job and that she needed him. He said that she didn’t need me. That I’ll amount to nothing anyway with my mental shit, so I can just take one for the team. He said I could be useful for once. That it was all my fault, because if it weren’t for me and my fucked up brain, he would have never been driving outside anyway. He was screaming. He was vicious. The alcohol made him like that. Then he calmed down again. He said I could say I was manic and that the sentence won’t be as harsh because it’s not technically my fault that my brain is weird. He said I was young, I’d get out with a slap on the wrist, that everything would be fine. 

I believed him. Of course, I did. I didn’t understand half of what was happening but I’d do anything for my mother. And I believed him when he said I wouldn’t amount to anything. So I stayed in the driver’s seat until the police showed up and when they asked who was driving I said it was me. 

I didn’t fully understand what went down until later. For the first few weeks, I hadn’t even realized she’d passed away. I thought it was just a stupid accident. But then all of a sudden, all my friends and family believed I was a murderer. I had a permanent record. I had to serve time, although it was only for a bit because, just as he said, I got off with a lighter sentence cause of my bipolar. Still, there was a grave in the cemetery because of me. That’s a life sentence in itself.

And the worst part is that he still left my mom. He just packed up and left. I’m sure he still drives drunk.”

Isak’s ears are ringing. He’s no longer registering words. He feels the urge to get up and start running, running away the same he did every time he couldn’t bear to listen. 

But he can’t. He’s glued to the ground. He’s shaking a little bit. Shaking with disbelief, anger, relief, hurt, and more  **anger.**

“Isak...”

“It was your father,” Isak chokes out.

“It was my father.”

“He was drunk.”

“He was drunk.”

“It wasn’t snowing.”

“It wasn’t snowing,” Even repeats, voice ridden with guilt. “He was drunk. It wasn’t snowing. She wasn’t running in the middle of the road. She was standing on the sidewalk by a tree, smoking. He lost control of the car because he was drunk.” 

Isak hides his face in his hands. He wants to scream.

“Why tell the truth now?” he asks instead.

“I thought that the lie was only ruining me, my life. I never realized how much it was ruining everyone else. How much it was ruining  _ you.  _ You were convinced it was your fault. It was never your fault. Never.”

Isak closes his eyes and breathes long and hard. 

“I’m sorry, Isak. I’m so sorry.”

Isak finally stands. He turns and walks away. 

Even doesn’t chase after him.

.

Isak doesn’t cry.

On Friday, he buys a ticket back to Trondheim for the following day. He takes a shower, has breakfast with Eskild and Noora, and meets Jonas for lunch. 

He tells him that Even is in Oslo too, and Jonas says that he knows. 

Isak looks up, confused. 

“I was studying with Sana cause we have a class in common at UiO, and I heard her brother talk about Even and how he was in town.”

“Wait what?” Isak furrows his brows, even more confused now.

“Even used to be friends with Sana’s brother. It’s a whole other thing.”

“How do you know it’s the same Even?”

Jonas looks up at Isak. “It’s a small town. It wasn’t the first time they talked about him.” 

Isak hums. “Do they talk about him like he’s a bad person?” he asks without looking at Jonas. He feels embarrassed for asking such a weird question.

“No. He sounded like a good guy,” says Jonas. “You know, before all of this.” 

Isak nods. He feels pathetic. 

“Are they on speaking terms, you think?” he asks one more time, because he can’t help it.

“I’m not sure,” Jonas shrugs. “Why?”

“No reason.”

Isak wonders if Even has someone to talk to the way Isak does right now. He wonders if he has a Jonas to wait for him and roll him joints and answer his pathetic questions. If he has an Eskild to take care of him and cook him warm meals, if he has anyone to lean on right now. 

Isak wonders. 

.

At three o’clock, Isak goes back to Kollektivet to get a change of clothes then makes his way to the police station with his heart in his throat. He’s not really sure what he’s doing. 

He stops by a cafe and buys a sandwich and a soda can. 

He then sits outside the station and plays candy crush on his phone for nearly an hour. 

“Isak?!” 

Isak looks up. Even is in the same dark jeans from the other day and in a crumpled white shirt. 

Isak stands up, suddenly nervous and unsure. He feels like throwing up. 

“What are you doing here? What are you wearing?”

Even is referring to the old suit Isak borrowed from Eskild. He doesn’t know what he was thinking showing up to the police station in a fucking suit. 

“Fuck, I don’t know what people wear to these things,” Isak shrugs. “At least I’m not wearing a tie. I guess?” 

Even blinks at him.

“I brought you some food,” Isak adds, fumbling with the bag to put said food in Even’s hands. “And soda? If you want. I don’t know. I got you a Sprite? You look like a Sprite person? I thought you might have skipped lunch or something. You tend to do that, sometimes. You know, before?”

He looks up at Even, at last, and the sight overwhelms him. 

Even is in tears. He looks exhausted and scared and grateful. Isak looks away. He can’t take it.

“Come on, sit,” he says awkwardly, pointing to the stairs. “We can share if you’re not super hungry.” 

They sit. Even’s eyes are still brimming with tears. 

“How did it go?” Isak asks nonchalantly. 

“I don’t know.” Even finally says.

“You don’t know?”

“It was a shitshow. But I told them everything,” he says.

“Do you think they believed you?” 

“I don’t know. I think so? He had other DUIs more recently, though non fatal.”

_ Non fatal.  _ That hurts a bit. 

“So what happens now?” Isak asks, looks down at his hands, so he can avoid looking at Even.

Because Even needs a hug and Isak wants to give him a hug.

“I don’t know,” says Even. “But I won’t run away this time. Even if it gets shit. Even if it gets hard.”

“Hard how?”

“I don’t know. With my family and shit. I mean, it’s my word against his at this point. And I lied to the police before. Who says I’m not lying now?” 

“That was different.” 

“I know, but still.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.” Isak says.

They split the sandwich in half. Isak gives Even the bigger cut.

“And after that?” he nudges.

“After what?”

“After all of this. What will you do?”

“And after that I’ll go to Bergen,” says Even. 

His large bites are oddly comforting to Isak. Even looks like he’s been starving. 

“Bergen,” Isak repeats. “That’s nice.”

“I mean, is it really?” Even offers with a small smile.

“I don’t know. My friend Eva used to have nice things to say.” Isak laughs faintly. Even joins him. 

It’s nice. Sitting here and laughing together. It’s weird but it’s nice. 

“Even, can I hug you?” Isak asks quietly, as though hoping Even won’t hear him.

“I’m not sure I deserve it.” 

Isak wraps him in his arms, right there on the steps. He holds him close. He holds him so close. “Shut up,” he mumbles into Even’s neck.

Even holds him right back. Isak has been held plenty since coming to Oslo, but this hug feels different. It feels like a final hug. Like an embrace that marks the end of a chapter and the beginning of another. 

“I’m sorry,” Even pleads into his chest. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Isak murmurs with his eyes closed. It hurts to say it, but it’s true. “It wasn’t our fault.”

They both have tears in their eyes and bread crumbs around their mouths now.  _ Great. _

“It wasn’t our fault,” Even mumbles quietly, like he’ll take that over only exonerating himself.

“It was shit luck,” Isak finds himself quoting Jonas. 

“Shit luck.”

“Still, I’m glad I met you,” Isak confesses and finds that he means it. 

Despite the pain and the anguish and the worry and the heartbreak and the awful luck, Isak is still glad he met Even. Because if he hadn’t, he would have just spent the rest of his days lonely and miserable and alone, in a cage of his own making, in an imaginary world of his own design.

“You can’t possibly mean that,” Even says as he pulls away to look Isak in the eyes. 

“I do,” Isak says before pulling him into a kiss. 

They kiss. They do. It’s wet and it’s salty and it’s sad, so sad, but so warm and so loving. They kiss deeply, desperately. 

When they pull apart, Even touches his forehead to Isak’s, his hands still on Isak’s face. 

“I love you,” Even says and it breaks Isak’s heart. “I love you. You know?”

“I love you, too.” 

_ I really do.  _

“But it will never not hurt,” Even says next. Their foreheads still pressed together. 

“What?” Isak opens his eyes and pulls back enough to look at him.

“Looking at me. Being near me. It will never not hurt you. It will never get easier.” 

Isak understands. He nods.

“Not just for you. For me, too,” says Even. 

“Looking at me hurts you. I understand. I’m a reminder.” 

Isak looks down. He feels devastated. But he knows Even is right.

“No, look at me, Isak.” Even lifts his face. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself anymore.”

“Ditto.” Isak sniffs. He tries to smile. He feels pathetic. “I mean it.”

“We have too much shit.”

“Yeah, too much shit. We can’t do this.”

They both speak words they don’t believe in. But it’s the right thing to do. 

“Maybe one day, when it doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

“If,” Even corrects him. “I don’t know if it ever will.”

Isak feels a lump in his throat.  _ Right.  _

“Maybe in another universe?” He feels like a child. 

Even caresses his face again, smiles at him sadly, leans in and kisses him again. “I love you.” He says again. “I love you.”

Isak smiles too, kisses him too. 

They kiss on the steps of the police station. 

_ Don’t go.  _ Isak wants to beg.  _ Don’t go. Stay. Just a little bit longer. Stay.  _

He doesn’t. 

“I’m gonna need you to live the happiest fucking life anyone has ever lived. Can you do that for me, baby?” Even whispers in the gentlest voice. He’s smiling. Isak realizes that he hasn’t seen him smile nearly enough. 

“I’ll be the fucking master of living a happy life.”

“Promise?” 

“I promise.” 

.

.

.

Isak prepared for this to some extent. He won’t admit to it, but he did entertain the possibility. The very slim probability of this exact scenario unfolding. He prepared for it out of sheer plausibility, not because he hoped for it. Not because he surreptitiously put his hands together last night in bed and prayed to an unknown entity for this exact scenario to unfold. 

Still, his heart stops for a moment in his chest when it materializes before him, when those blue eyes land on his, interrupting a perfunctory recital of tonight’s menu. 

Isak is at a restaurant in Bergen. He’s with the head of his department, Professor Eriksson. They’re both wearing suits. The other student attending the conference has a stomach bug, and couldn’t make it to the dinner paid for by the university. 

Even is waiting their table at this stupidly fancy restaurant. 

His hair is styled and his face is bright. He looks healthy. He looks lovely. He looks flabbergasted as if something has just erupted inside him, splintering him from within. 

They stare at each other for a while, the world forgotten. Isak tries to remember these feelings, tries to catalog them so he can refer to them later. 

_ ‘It will never not hurt.’  _

It’s true. Among the tenderness, and the joy, and nervousness, Isak recognizes pain, too. It’s still there. Bright and vivid and fierce. The pain. 

He imagines that Even is going through the exact same motions. 

Even suddenly shakes his head and looks away. “Uhm. Sorry. My apologies. Uh, today’s specials are uh. One second.” He trips over his words. 

Professor Eriksson looks confused, or perhaps a little amused. 

Isak notices Even’s red ears, the flush creeping up the back of his lovely neck, his cheeks, his wide eyes.

He wants to say hi, but he doesn’t know if it’s allowed. 

“Hi,” it comes out as a pathetic squeak. “Hi Even.”

“You two know each other?” Eriksson asks. 

Even looks at Isak as though awaiting to hear his answer as well.

“Yes, we do.” 

.

The rest of dinner is certainly awkward. They get a different waitress who apologizes for the fumble, a young girl with dark hair. Isak feels bad for the rest of dinner. He feels bad for secretly hoping for this encounter.

Of course, Even would clock out in pain. Even told him that it would never not hurt. What was Isak thinking? That he’d welcome him with open arms?

“Another glass?” Eriksson asks. He’s not that much older. He’s certainly not terrible to look at. 

“I think I’m alright,” says Isak. “Actually, do you mind if I leave early? I just remembered I have to go feed my cat.”

“Your cat? You brought your cat to a 2-day conference in Bergen?” 

_ Right.  _ Quite the worst excuse he could come up with.

“She’s a special cat. Kind of like a dog. She can’t be by herself.”

.

The air is cold on his skin. Isak leans against a tree and closes his eyes. 

What are the odds of ending up at the one restaurant where Even works in Bergen during a two-day conference?

This must mean something.  _ Right?  _

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

* * *

**Even (Trondheim)**

Back alley

* * *

Isak loves his hair like this, he decides. He loves him in white, he decides next. This uniform suits him. 

“That tip was kind of scandalous,” says Even. He’s sitting next to him, on a wet step in the back alley. 

Isak smiles. He can’t stop staring at him. 

“You shouldn’t have ditched our table,” says Isak. “See?”

“So you were bragging?” Even raises his eyebrow playfully. 

“Bold of you to assume that was my money.” 

“Well, with the suit and the older boyfriend. Wasn’t exactly a reach.” 

“My  _ boyfriend? _ Professor Eriksson, my  _ boyfriend?!  _ What?” Isak splutters with furrowed brows in fake outrage. Even laughs. 

“Okay, not your boyfriend. Got it,” he says with his arms up in surrender. 

“Who do you think I am? I have taste, I’ll have you know.” 

“Oh yes, taste! That’s why you got chicken nuggets for dinner. Right.”

“How dare you?” Isak scoffs. Even laughs harder. “What’s wrong with chicken nuggets?”

It’s so sweet. Isak feels like he must be dreaming. 

“The suit is Lars’. I’m here for a conference,” Isak elaborates when silence settles again. “That was the head of my department. He doesn’t go for students, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure he’d make an exception for you.”

“Shut up.” Isak shoves him this time, still laughing. “Who are you, even?”

“Alright, alright. That was gross. I’m sorry,” Even pleads. “I’m just nervous.” 

“Nervous. Why?” Isak asks even if he knows why. Part of him wants to feel validated, to verify that this isn’t just in his head. 

“Are you kidding me?” 

“What?”

“You’re here. In front of me,” says Even. “I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m freaking out right now.”

“Me too.”

It’s quiet again after that. The banter only lasted so much. One can’t banter their way out of tragedy per se. 

“You know when you started at the restaurant back in Trondheim, I used to tell myself that you’d do so well as a waiter. Used to wonder why someone with your face slaved away in the back.”

“Someone with my face,” Even scoffs.

“You know,” Isak gestures to Even’s face vaguely with his hand as if it was supposed to convey meaning. “Handsome.”

“Handsome. Who? Me?” 

“Shut up.” Isak rolls his eyes. 

Even smiles. 

“What?” Isak asks.

“You rolled your eyes.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. It’s cute. I like it.”

Isak blushes. He didn’t expect their first encounter after that dramatic day at the police station a year ago to end in bouts of screaming, but he certainly didn’t expect  _ this.  _ The warmth, the smiles, the nervousness.

“You greeted me in public,” Even says after a while.

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

“You’re impossible. You know that?” 

It sounds like a compliment. 

“Did it hurt when you first realized it was me?” Even asks.

Isak hesitates. “It did.”

“What about now?”

“It’s still there, but it doesn’t hurt as much,” says Isak. “What about you?”

“Something twists inside me every time I think of you.”

_ Ouch.  _ Right. 

“That doesn’t sound very sexy. Sounds quite painful actually.” Isak goes the humor route.

“All delightful things in life are,” Even adds. He’s smiling again. 

It’s cold. It’s absurdly and unfairly cold. 

“But it hurts less.” Even presses.

“Oh yeah? How much less?”

“I don’t know. What do you mean how much? On a scale of what?”

“Doesn’t have to be a scale. Could be like a percentage.” Isak shrugs.

“A percentage? I don’t know. Like twenty one percent?”

“Twenty one percent. What does that even mean?” Isak laughs.

“I don’t fucking know.” 

“Is it at 21% or is it 21% less?”

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference is being at 21% pain or being at 79% pain.”

“I’ve never been good at math, Isak. I must tell you.”

Isak barks out a laugh. Even laughs, too. 

It’s all so lovely. 

“When are you going back to Trondheim?”

“Tomorrow morning,” says Isak. 

Even hums. “How’s Marianne?”

“She’s better,” says Isak. “She lives at home now. She has a boyfriend.” 

“A boyfriend?” Even smiles. “Wow. That sounds nice.”

“Yeah, it does sound nice.” 

They sit there until the cold is no longer bearable, until it begins to rain. They’re shielded from it mostly, the raindrops splattering quietly by their feet. 

_ I miss you. You know? I think of you a lot. I wish I could hug you. _ Isak thinks the words but doesn’t know how to say them. He doesn’t know if they’re allowed. If Even wants to hear them. If he’ll worry about Isak, if Isak says them. 

“I still have tenderness for you. You know?” Even says out of nowhere. “I always will. I think.”

Isak opens his mouth, but no words come out. It feels like Even has reached into his chest and squeezed his heart with his bare hand.

“But it still hurts. I don’t think it ever won’t.” 

Even stands up. He says he’ll be right back. But ten minutes in, Isak realizes he won’t.

An umbrella is leaning on the wall where Even was. 

Isak’s heart remains tenfold its size for days. 

.

.

* * *

**Sana**

I need to talk to you

* * *

The message is rather ominous. And while their friendship has been nothing but a delight since Isak started visiting Oslo more regularly, Sana doesn’t text him those words very often, if at all.

Isak is worried walking into KB.

“Okay, I’m not gonna lie. But your text freaked me out a bit. What did I do? I swear I didn’t hit on Mutta. Whatever your brother said, it was a  _ lie _ .” 

“Oh, shut up,” Sana shushes. “We both know that you did. But not why I summoned you here.”

“Hm. Okay. What is it?” Isak frowns. He can feel his heart rate go up. 

“Okay so, Yousef and I are getting married.” 

“What?!” Isak gets up from his seat in excitement. “Oh my god? Really? That’s amazing, Sana. Holy shit. When?”

“Isak, if you don’t sit back down right this instant!” 

“Why are you so tense? That’s amazing news! Wait, are you gonna ask me to be your maid of honor or some shit?” 

“What? You of all people? Please!” she snorts. Isak brings a hand to his heart like he’s hurt. “Besides, we don’t even have maids of honor. Educate yourself.”

“Okay, so what is it?” 

Sana looks him straight in the eyes and says, “It’s Even.”

_ Oh.  _

Oh.

Isak hasn’t heard his name in a while. It’s been over a year since the Bergen incident. It takes him a little while to gather himself. Sana waits.

“What about Even?”

“Even is coming to the wedding. Or at least, Yousef is going to invite him. We’re going to invite him. Are you fine with that?” 

Isak sits there and breathes for a while. He’s always appreciated Sana’s straightforwardness, but he feels put on the spot. 

“Even and Yousef have been friends for so many years. It would mean a lot to Yousef to have him there. But it would also mean a lot to  _ me  _ to have  _ you  _ there. So I need to know that you’re okay with it.” 

“And if I’m not?” 

“We’ll toss a coin? I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”

Isak smiles. Of course, she will.

“You don’t have to. I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive.” 

“You’re not lying to me. Are you, Isabell?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Isak smiles.

“Are you gonna ditch?”

“And miss your mom’s cooking? Are you crazy?” 

“Do you seriously think my mom will cook for three hundred people?” 

“Three hundred people? What the fuck, Sana?”

.

It’s been years. Isak can attend one wedding with Even and be fine. He’ll be fine. He’s fine. 

Besides, if the guest list is as long as Sana said, he probably won’t run into him at all. They have different circles after all. Isak will just stick with Jonas. 

“Okay, so I don’t want you to freak out or anything, baby Jesus. But I feel like I have to share this piece of information with you.” Eskild ambushes him at Kollektivet before they leave for the reception.

“What, Eskild?” Isak rolls his eyes. 

“Uhm. So I heard Even is attending.”

“Yeah, whatever it’s all good. We’re past it.” Isak says, although hearing his friends speak Even’s name will never not feel like a pinch to the heart.

“I know. I know. It’s just that, uhm, he came over the other day? Like a couple of weeks ago?” 

“Huh? Come over where? Here?” Isak squints.

“No, at work. He came by the jewelry store.”

“Uhm, okay?”

“He was looking for a ring. An engagement ring.” 

“Oh.” 

“I think he’s getting married,” says Eskild.

“Oh.” 

.

It’s fine. It’s great, even.

Isak is happy for him. Because Even deserves to be happy. He deserves to move on and start a family, or whatever. If that’s what he wishes for, he deserves it. 

Isak can’t help but imagine what Even’s future wife -- the ring was for a woman, according to Eskild -- looks like. How they met. How she speaks. How she carries herself. If she ever rolls her eyes. If she’s sweet. If she’s tall. If, when he looks at her, Even feels pain.

Isak can’t decide if he’s grateful or absolutely livid that this is a dry wedding.

Probably the former. Sana would cut off his legs for embarrassing her at her own wedding. 

It feels like she invited more than three hundred people. And yet, there’s Even. Isak spots him right away, is drawn to him right away. Sometimes, he feels like the universe purposefully pulls strings to make sure they end up face to face. 

_ 2121% pain. _

Even looks beautiful as always. He’s in a white shirt, no tie, top button undone, and dark trousers. His hair is styled and pushed back. His smile is bright and larger than life. Did Even always smile like that “ _ before”? _

He’s devastating. Isak feels dizzy. 

But then he recognizes the anxiety in Even’s features. As soon as the gorgeous blonde with short hair leaves his side, Even suddenly looks small and unsure, his eyes drifting from one person to the next. 

Isak wonders if Even is scanning the crowd anxiously looking for him. But then he realizes that Even is simply worried about how other people perceive him. Sana said it was his first public event, that it won’t be easy, even after everything got resolved and his father got to answer for his crime.

Isak wants to hug him. 

Even’s eyes land on his right then. 

_ First thought. Best thought.  _

Isak feels scared.

Is Even going to recoil further into himself? Does he feel nothing but pain when he looks at Isak? Or is the tenderness he spoke about last time still there as well? It’s been over a year. Maybe it’s gone.

Even doesn’t wince. His face lights up with a soft smile instead, and then a shy wave follows. 

Isak realizes that everyone’s eyes are on them. _Or maybe ten people’s eyes._ _Sana and Yousef’s relatives don’t give two shits._ Certainly. 

Isak waves right back. He smiles right back. 

_ Fuck it.  _

He walks toward Even. Even waits for him. 

“Is it just me or is everyone staring at us?” Even says.

“Pretty sure Mr. Bakkoush doesn’t give a flying fuck.” 

Even laughs. Isak laughs too. 

He can see Jonas, Eskild, and Mutta holding their breath in the corner. 

“How are you?” Isak asks.

“I’m as good as I can be.” Even shrugs. “And you? How have you been? Did that professor ever make a move?”

“Even!” Isak scoffs. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry. Had to ask. Been wondering for a while.” There’s laughter in Even’s eyes, still.

“I mean. It was really fucked up, but like, kinda?” Isak admits before hiding his face in his hands. 

“I  _ knew _ it!” 

“What do you mean you  _ ‘knew’  _ it? You have some perv radar or what?”

“I mean that, too. But it was just the way he kept looking at you that dinner. You know?”

“And what way was that exactly?” 

“I mean, you know,” Even gestures to Isak’s face and body vaguely. 

“What do you mean?” Isak laughs. “No, I do not, in fact, know. Enlighten me.” 

“Oh come on, Isak. You know you’re fucking breathtaking, right?” 

Isak’s laugh dies down in his throat. He no longer feels like laughing. He looks away, spots the gorgeous blonde with the short hair. 

It was the same girl that visited him in Lillehammer ages ago, he realizes. 

How unfair.

“Congratulations, by the way,” he says. 

“Oh?” Even looks surprised that Isak knows. He blushes a bit. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Isak feels bitter, so bitter.

“How did you find out?”

“Uhm.” Isak tries to hide his disappointment. “My old roommate, Eskild.”

“Eskild? Who’s Eskild? Do I know him?”

“Uh, I don’t know. But you came by the store where he works last week or something?” 

“What?” Even looks beyond confused.

“What do you mean what?”

“What store?”

“The jewelry store? Where you bought an engagement ring?” Isak explains. 

“Oh yeah, my mom is getting remarried,” Even says very casually. “What about it?”

“What?” 

“I helped her boyfriend pick out a ring since I know what she likes, and I’m ‘artsy’ or whatever he said when he all but forced me to go.” 

“Wha-” Isak is suddenly mortified. 

“Wait, did you think-” Even stops, then bursts into laughter. “Did you think  _ I  _ was getting married? Me? What? To who?”

“I don’t know? You have a whole new life in Bergen. How would I know? It wasn’t a reach!”

“I don’t have a whole new life in Bergen, Isak.” says Even, and Isak doesn’t know what it means. 

He feels embarrassed, then remembers something. “Wait what did you think I was congratulating you for?”

“Uhm. I got into film school? In Lillehammer?”

“Wait, really?” Isak smiles big, his embarrassment overshadowed by another stronger feeling.

“Yeah. Really.” Even looks bashful. He’s blushing. He looks lovely. 

“I’m proud of you,” Isak blurts out. 

“Really?” 

“Really,” says Isak. “I want to hug you, actually.”

“Yeah?” 

“Can I hug you?” 

“Here?” 

Isak looks around.  _ Right.  _ Eskild, Jonas, Noora, Eva, Chris, and all of Even’s friends are currently watching them intently, albeit trying to be subtle about it. 

“You’re right,” Isak sighs. “Sana won’t forgive me if I steal the spotlight on her big day.” 

“I hear she can be very forgiving.” Even smiles. 

“Oh yeah? You just want her to kick my ass. Don’t you?”

Even laughs. “I would never.” 

Isak looks at the blonde again. She’s giggling with Mutta’s friend Mikael. Isak does not understand. 

“Who is she?” he asks Even.

“Who?” 

Isak points with his chin. “She looks familiar.”

“Oh. That’s Sonja.” Even says hesitantly. 

“Sonja.”

“Yeah, she’s my friend. Or well, she’s also my ex. We used to be together a long time ago.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Yeah. She’s doing Youtube part-time? She posts Yoga videos? I don’t know. Might be where you recognize her from? She’s been blowing up lately.”

“Yoga videos. Do I look-?” Isak scoffs. Even is back to laughing. 

“I don’t fucking know? You could be into that? I mean you have good posture.”

“Good posture? Me? Now you’re just shooting the shit.” Isak rolls his eyes. 

Even looks at him fondly. 

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re cute.”

“Oh my god. Shut up.” Isak pleads, embarrassed and suddenly shy. 

“What? It’s true. I like it. I like this.”

“What do you mean this?”

“I don’t know. Talking to you. Shooting the shit with you. Watching you smile and roll your eyes. Getting to know you.” 

Isak feels warm and fuzzy inside. 

“But you know me,” he says. “You know me like no one else knows me, already.”

“Not like that,” Even shakes his head. 

“Not like what?”

“You know, I feel like we skipped the dumb parts that everyone takes for granted, and just went straight to fucking and crying.” 

“Jesus.” Isak’s face flushes, but he still snorts. 

“I mean you know.”

“That’s not even true. I pined after you for like a year before you let me kiss you.” 

“Yeah well, I’m pretty sure I out-pined you,” says Even. 

“Impossible.” 

“I wanted to kiss you the very first day I saw you. It shocked me and annoyed me because I didn’t even know I was capable of wanting anything for myself anymore. Let alone wanting to kiss the pretty boy at work.”

Isak blushes, looks at his shoes. 

“Shut up,” he says weakly. 

“You’re pretty. Please don’t tell me you don’t know you’re fucking pretty.” 

“You’re so embarrassing,” Isak sighs dramatically. “Have you always been this embarrassing?” 

“God, you have no idea.” Even laughs. “You would have never fallen for me if you’d met me  _ before.”  _

_ Before.  _

Isak looks at Even, looks him dead in the eyes. “Impossible.” 

Even stares at him for a while, as though rattled by Isak’s one-word retort, by his confidence maybe. He then groans and buries his face in his own hands. 

“What?” Isak asks. 

“You’re making this so difficult.”

“Making what difficult?” 

“This. Getting through this day without causing a scene.” 

“What scene are you thinking of causing?”

“You know what scene, Isak.”

“I really don’t.” 

Isak doesn’t know. He might have a few ideas. But he doesn’t know for sure. Does Even want to touch him, hug him, kiss him? Does Even want to take him home? 

“It still hurts, Isak.” Even says, and it feels like a bucket of ice has just been hurled at him. 

“Oh.” 

“I mean. You know. I can’t. We can’t. This is weird.”

_ Right. _

_ Fuck. _

That stings. 

Isak takes a deep breath and begins to look for Jonas in the crowd.

“Isak, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that-”

“No, it’s fine. I get it.”

“No, I mean. We can just, I don’t know, relax?”

“Relax?” Isak squints, confused.

“You know.” Even runs a hand through his hair. “I just don’t want things to get intense? Like my therapist actually said that I shouldn’t even talk to you. Something about how I’d ruin my progress  _ and  _ yours. Something about toxicity or whatever. But here I am talking about how hot you are and how I dream of you at night.”

Isak ignores the part where a licensed professional told Even to stay away from him. 

“You didn’t say that last part,” he says instead, teasing. 

“Well fuck, now you know, I guess. Shit.” 

Isak laughs. 

“I just want to know what else I didn’t get to learn about you? Like what kind of movies you like? Songs you hate? What embarrassing stories your friends tell about you to tease you? Like, I heard Sana call you grumpy the other day? I had no idea you were grumpy? I mean I can see it now, but I didn’t know before?”

“Grumpy? Me? What the fuck? How dare you?”

“And like, I’ve never seen you run or ride a bike? Do you even know how to ride a bike? Or dance? I’ve never seen you dance.”

“And you never will!” Isak swears.

“What, is that a challenge? Are you trying to make me make you dance?” 

“Are you listening to yourself? You call me lazy, question my ability to ride a bike, then ask me to dance for you?” 

“Come on. We’re gonna fucking dance!” Even declares, wrapping his hand around Isak’s wrist and tugging. And  _ oh,  _ that feels nice. Isak realizes he hasn’t felt Even’s touch in years. 

“We might as well fuck on the dance floor, you know?” says Isak. “That would make more sense to everyone than me dancing in public.”

“Oh, so you dance in private?” 

“God, I hate you!” 

Isak pauses the moment he says those words. “I didn’t mean that.” He says immediately. 

“I know,” says Even, smiling quietly. “So, dance?” 

“Never!” 

.

They’re holding hands in a dark taxi by the end of the night, fingers intertwined, palms damp. They gave two different addresses. It made no sense for them to share one in the first place. Even is staying with Mutta and Isak is staying at Kollektivet. 

But it felt like the only way to get some time alone away from everyone’s watchful eyes.

“We’re not even drunk,” says Isak. 

“Right? I gotta say I quite like dry weddings now.” Even smiles. 

Isak smiles, too. He squeezes Even’s knuckles. Even moves to hold him closer. 

They hug. At last. 

“Is it a scene if no one’s here to watch?” Isak asks. 

“It can be.”

They cause a scene in the confines of their private taxi. 

Even moves after a while, as if to put an end to the hug. Isak holds him closer. 

“Just a moment longer. Please?” 

Even stays. 

“Does it still hurt?” Even surprises him by asking. “For you?”

Isak nods in his arms. “But this feels nice.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I’m so glad I got to see you today.” 

Even pulls back to look him in the eyes. He brings a hand to Isak’s face, tucks a curl behind his ear. It’s so intimate and lovely. “Me too.” 

“I was very nervous at first. But it was fine?” says Isak. “You know? Like we can probably meet at other major life events without it being weird.”

“Major life events?” Even repeats.

“You know, like other weddings, reunions, graduation ceremonies?”

“Birthdays?”

“Yeah, I guess.” 

“Hm. That would be nice,” says Even. “I’d love to get invited to your wedding.” 

It gives Isak pause. He stares at Even. He can’t figure out if this is a joke or if he means it.

Even doesn’t elaborate. And when the taxi stops in front of Mutta’s house, Even detangles himself from Isak’s hold in a blink. 

Isak feels cold and drunk all of a sudden.

“Goodnight, Isak. Take care of yourself, yeah?” 

.

The hangover is merciless the next day. 

He doesn’t leave Noora’s unoccupied room. He draws the curtains and drowns under the sheets. 

“Did you sneak in a flask to the wedding or what, baby gay?” Eskild jokes on the other side of the door. But he doesn’t press. He leaves Isak alone. 

Isak wonders why. He wonders if everyone knows that he’s ridden with shame and guilt. 

Isak didn’t have a single drop of alcohol the previous night. And yet there he is, hiding under the sheets, and spiraling with guilt, and shame, and guilt, and shame.

What was he thinking? Throwing himself at Even like that? In front of all of his friends? In front of everyone? Everyone who knew exactly what happened, what went down between them, the tragedy linking them. Just what was he thinking? 

What would his mother say? What would Lea say? Is he really that horny? That desperate for dick? The sex couldn’t have been that good? 

_ Fuck.  _ He feels disgusting. He feels repulsive. 

“Something is wrong with me,” he blurts out when Eskild’s voice cracks, as he pleads with him to eat something.

“What?”

“I think something is seriously fucking wrong with me.” 

.

Therapy is awkward. 

Isak doesn’t trust this lady. Louisa, or whatever her name is. He knows that she doesn’t care about  _ him.  _ Human being, Isak. He knows he’s just one of the many specimens that show up to her office ridden with some sort of emotional or psychological ailment. He knows that there’s nothing magical about what she does. He knows that there’s a finite set of symptoms, and a finite set of techniques to tackle and address each one. 

He knows he’s just a database entry in her practice, a line item providing a steady income. He knows all of this.

For the first two sessions, he barely opens his mouth. He shrugs, rolls his eyes, fiddles with his fingers, looks at the ceiling, looks at his shoes. 

By the third session, he cracks. 

Isak wonders what it was that let her know where to apply pressure, where to press, where it would hurt the most. 

“I don’t remember when the snow became a thing,” he says. 

“Was it before or after you met Even?” she asks.

Isak thinks. “I don’t remember. I honestly can’t tell.” 

“It’s okay,” she reassures him. “Why snow, do you think? Why do you think you convinced yourself that it snowed that night?” 

“I don’t know. Cause you can’t see in the snow? When you’re driving, I mean.”

“So you were putting yourself in the driver’s shoes? Why were you trying to empathize with the person who took your sister’s life?”

“Maybe because I just wanted to blame myself? Maybe it’s not so much about the driver and Even or whatever, and it’s more about making blaming myself easier? It’s easier to blame myself if the driver didn’t have a choice? I don’t know?”

“But doesn’t a driver who drives in the snow have a choice not to drive in the snow?” 

Isak frowns. “I guess. What’s the point?”

“Do you still blame yourself? 

“I don’t know. I guess?” He feels upset. It’s true. He still does.

“Do you still blame Even?”

Isak wipes a tear with his sleeve. “No. I don’t. But that’s the whole point. I feel like I should. I feel like everyone thinks I’m crazy for not blaming him.”

“Who’s everyone? Can you elaborate?”

“I don’t know. My friends? His friends? I feel like those stupid women in the documentaries who send love letters to serial killers in death row, you know? I feel like I’m acting like a brainwashed psycho.” 

“Okay. Let’s work on avoiding some of those words.”

“But you get it, right? You also think I’m crazy for like, being in love with him, right?” 

“No, I don’t. You’re not crazy.”

“I mean, I made up an entire fucked up story in my head to put the blame on myself entirely. I manipulated my own memories and became so convinced that they happened, just so I could justify my feelings for him. That’s messed up. Right?”

“It’s not an uncommon response to PTSD, Isak. I can assure you.” 

“PTSD,” Isak huffs. “My friend Jonas said something similar before.”

“He sounds wise.” 

“He is.” 

.

It doesn’t help right away. The therapy. If anything, it makes him very angry, very drained, very on edge. It forces him to think about things he’d rather not think about. 

Louisa tells him to track his triggers, to journal, to write down every time he feels ‘disgusting’, every time Lea pops in his head. 

Isak doesn’t do any of that. But he thinks about it.

But within a few months, it becomes apparent that he needs to move on. 

He stops frowning and rolling his eyes at her. He smiles, even. He talks about his mom, his dad. He feels lighter.

Anja introduces him to a young man she met at her internship, and Isak doesn’t reject him right away. He’s not awful to look at. He’s nice. He’s smart. His name is Stein.

Isak shows up to the bar, then to the restaurant, then to the museum. He doesn’t flinch when Stein leans in for the first kiss, then the second, then the third.

Isak accepts the touches, the hand on the small of his back, the knee grazing his thigh. 

But he doesn’t want to hold hands. All hands remind him of the ones that held his own in a cold and narrow taxi in Oslo. He doesn’t want to spend the night. He doesn’t want to talk about feelings. He doesn’t want to be kissed in a crowd.

Eventually, Stein loses interest, accuses him of being cold and distant. 

Eventually, all the other boys follow suit. 

Isak’s issues with intimacy soon become his scarlet letter around town. But it’s okay. He’s graduating soon, anyway.

.

He thinks about it. He thinks about inviting Even. But it’s stupid. It’s really stupid. Isn’t it? They made that pact forever ago. Surely, Even has moved on. 

He’s still torturing himself at his desk when Petter barges in and hands him an envelope. 

“What is this?”

“You need a drawing, bro? It’s mail. It came for you.” 

“I don’t get fucking mail.” 

“Why are you getting pissy at  _ me?  _ Don’t shoot the messenger!”

Isak throws a pillow at him. 

“God, I can’t wait for you to fucking move out.”

“Shut up. You love me.” 

Petter gives him the finger. Isak laughs. 

He looks at the envelope then doesn’t feel like laughing anymore. 

It’s an invite. It’s addressed to him. 

It’s for an exhibit. 

> _ my work got selected for this year’s school exhibit. would mean a lot to have you at  _ _   
>  _ _ my major life event.  
>  _ _   
>  _ _ Even x _

. 

“So, this is a friend of yours?” Sebastian asks for what seems like the millionth time.

“Yes. I promised I’d go, so.” 

“And you’re sure I’m invited?”

“It’s a free exhibit. It’s just for school.” 

“You dragged me all the way from Trondheim to Lillehammer for a free exhibit for school?” 

Isak rolls his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you later. I promise.”

“Oh yeah?” Sebastian wiggles his eyebrows. 

It’s not attractive, Isak realizes. He makes a mental note to break up with Sebastian the moment they’re back in Trondheim. 

“Yeah.”

.

“Did you really bring your fuckbuddy to Even’s exhibit?” Sana corners him at coat check. 

“He’s not my fuckbuddy.” Isak glares.

“Oh, is he your boyfriend, then?” She glares right back. “Didn’t think so.”

“You’re lucky you’re pregnant.”

“Oh yeah? What were you gonna do? Tackle me?” 

Isak sighs. She laughs. He laughs, too. 

“I missed you, Sanasol.”

“Missed you, too. Come on, let’s go in.”

.

Isak sits in the dark theater between Sebastian and Mutta. The short films are boring him to death. He barely makes it to the third one before dozing off. 

Sana swats him with her purse from three seats over. 

“How are you still so flexible with a belly that size?” 

“Shh!” Mikael interjects. 

“Whatever,” Isak mutters to himself.

Mutta leans in and whispers. “Even’s film is next.”

“Oh.” 

.

Isak is in tears by the time the screen fades to black. By the time, the words flash before his eyes. 

_ ‘For Lea’ _

He excuses himself before the next short film starts. He doesn’t make it to the reception. 

.

Isak is there at the after-party. It’s at a bar. He didn’t think he could face Even in the sober and brightly lit room where the reception was held. 

Besides, everyone is a bit drunk by now, so he feels less on the spot. 

He orders a vodka soda and pretends to laugh at Sebastian’s awful jokes. 

His breath catches in his throat when he spots Even. 

_ Even.  _

Even who’s currently being pulled into silly hugs by various people. He looks bashful and happy and a bit embarrassed. 

“I didn’t understand jack shit in your film, but I loved it, bro!” his friend Adam says. 

The others echo the sentiment. No one mentions anything about the dedication at the end of the film. 

He stands there by the counter and waits for Even to get to him, eventually. He feels bad for the anxiety he must be causing him on such a big night. But Even invited him. Even wants him here. Isak stands his ground. 

A minute later, they’re face to face.

“Full circle, huh?” Even says, and Isak’s nearly knocked out by the timber in his voice. 

“Huh?” 

“You and I. In Lillehammer again?” 

Even smiles. Something eases inside of Isak. 

He smiles, too. 

“I’m Sebastian.” Sebastian interrupts. 

_ Right.  _

Isak forgot he was there. 

Even extends his hand. He smiles. He looks beautiful, confident, kind. 

Sebastian is not smiling. He places a hand on Isak’s waist. Isak resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Sebastian,” Even presses, charming as ever. “Thank you for coming.”

.

“Where’s Sebastian?” Even asks, later in the night.

“He left.” Isak shrugs.

“He left? Why?”

“Cause I told him to.”

“That’s not very nice, Isak.” Even chastises, but it’s harmless. 

“I guess I’m not very nice.”

“Not true.” 

“I should have never brought him here,” Isak admits, his chest deflating. “I’m sorry.”

Even laughs. “Why are you apologizing to me?”

“I don’t know. It was a bit immature of me to bring someone you don’t know to your major life event.”

Even smiles. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you came.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It feels nice. 

“I loved your film, by the way,” says Isak.

“You did?”

“Yeah, I cried a bit.”

Even nods. 

“The whole bit with the memories. I thought it was very smart. I liked it.”

“No one else got that,” Even remarks. 

_ They’re not us. They wouldn’t understand. _

“So did you win money from the exhibit? Is that why you’re treating everyone to drinks?” Isak pivots.

Even laughs. “God no. No money. I wouldn’t want to monetize this project.”

_ This project.  _

“Well, we better go retrieve your card right this instant.” 

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ve been saving up a bit. I want to treat everyone for coming all the way here. It’s the least I could do.” 

Isak looks at him. He feels nothing but tenderness. 

“Still in the service industry on the side?” 

Even shakes his head. “I do a bunch of other stuff now. But, believe it or not, I make most of my money from Sonja’s gig.”

“Sonja?” Isak furrows his brows.

“Yeah, she expanded beyond yoga now. She does meditation, too. And low impact stuff. I don’t really get it. But I edit her videos, and she gives me a cut of her ad revenue and stuff. She has a management company now managing her stuff npw. It’s crazy. They wanted to find a new ‘cheaper’ editor, but she fought to keep me. Isn’t that nice?”

“Wow.” Isak nods. He loves listening to Even ramble, he realizes. “That’s really cool.”

“Right?”

“I take back what I said about yoga videos before.” 

Even laughs. 

“She sounds nice.” Isak adds.

“She is.” Even nods. “I think she still feels guilty.”

“Hm?”

“Sonja. She was there that night. We had a little fight. Remember?”

“Oh.”

“I think she still feels guilty for not taking me home that night.” 

Isak sits with the words. He never entertained the idea that someone else might bear guilt from that night, too.

“She knew it wasn’t me, that night. She knew I couldn’t drive a car in my state. She knew my father came to pick me up. It made no sense that I ended up behind the wheel with him wasted instead. He never even let me drive his car. She felt very guilty and very angry. I think she still feels guilty. ” 

Isak doesn’t really know what to say. So he just sits there and nods. 

“The rest of the guys, too. I think,” Even continues. “They were at that party, too. I feel like they all feel guilty for not getting me home that night. And it sucks because I really don’t want them to.”

Isak thinks about Jonas. He thinks about Eskild. Do they feel guilty, too?

“And that’s why I want to be happy. I want to be very happy and successful, so they don’t have to feel guilty and bad for me anymore.” 

Isak takes a sip from his drink. Hearing about this still hurts, he realizes dumbly. He thinks about Lea.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Even sighs suddenly. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m sorry.”

Isak shakes his head. “It’s okay.” 

“How are  _ you?”  _ Even asks.

“I’m good.”

“How are you, really?” 

Isak rolls his eyes. “I’m fine. I fight with my therapist still, but she loves me. So it’s fine.” 

“You have a therapist.”

“Yeah. She’s fucking annoying, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Even smiles like he’s endeared. 

“Does your therapist still say I’m toxic and that you should stay away from me?” Isak asks. 

“I switched therapists.” 

Isak looks up and nods. “Good.” 

“I mean she never really said it like that. You know?”

“Right.” 

“I’m serious. I mean, she made me realize that I’ve never seen you dance. I still want to see you dance.” 

“In your dreams.”

“You do that in there, sometimes, yeah.” 

Isak stops his childish act and stares.  _ I’m still in your dreams?  _ He wants to ask. 

Even holds his wrist as if to say  _ ‘Yes, you’re still in my dreams.’ _

“And you’re a shit dancer in my head, too.”

Isak scoffs. “How dare you?”

Even pulls him close, too close. “Show me? Dance with me?”

Isak looks around. 

“Sana and Yousef are back in the hotel. The rest are all drunk and passed out.” Even’s hand hovers over Isak’s waist, asking for permission. “Dance with me? It’s just you and me.”

Just then the song switched to an old Rihanna song. Isak can feel his eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

“Wow, your eyes do all sorts of things. You impress me every time.” Even teases. 

“This song is  _ shit!  _ Just  _ pure shit!”  _ Isak laments.

“How dare you? ‘We Found Love’ is a classic! An international treasure, Isak!”

Isak can’t believe that he’s letting himself get dragged to the middle of the dance floor.

“How do you even dance to this?” 

“Just move!” Even says as he starts clapping along to the beat, adding a slight jump to his step. He looks ridiculous. “Come on!”

Isak hides his face in his hands, but bops his head back and forth still.

“We found love in a hooooopeless plaaaaaace!’ Even sings and jumps, and it dawns on him then. 

The ridiculousness of the entire situation. The universe conspiring to make sure this shitty song ends on this shitty DJ’s playlist in this shitty bar.

_ We did. We did find love in a hopeless place. Didn’t we? _

Isak holds onto Even’s wrists and starts jumping, too. Even bursts into laughter. “Oh my god. What is this? Are you busting your moves?”

Isak can’t remember ever laughing this hard, ever smiling this hard. 

“This is our song!” Even declares.

He jumps. Even jumps. They jump. 

By the end of the song, the entire bar is singing along.

“We found love in Lillehaaaammmeeerrrr!” 

.

The next song is more bearable, more mellow. 

“I love this song,” Even declares. “‘I Found You’ by ‘Fred again’”.

“Did the DJ just type ‘Found’ on Spotify or what?”

Even holds him by the shoulders and shakes him gently. “So grumpy.” He smiles. “For the record, you’re an even shittier dancer in real life than you were in my dreams.” 

“And you’re a shit!” 

_ In this smoking chaos, our shoulder blades kissed. _

_ I found you. I found you beautiful. I found you exploding. I found you.  _

The song and the lyrics made Isak stop and stare. 

_ I found you.  _ _   
_ _ In the smoking chaos.  _ _   
_ _ I found you.  _ _   
_ _ I found you.  _ _   
_ _ I was outside my mind. _ _   
_ _ I found you. _ _   
_ _ I still remember. _

“Can this be our song, too?”

“What?” Even says, straining to hear Isak over the loud music. 

“I still love you.” 

“What?!” Even repeats. 

_ Nothing.  _

.

Even walks him back to his airbnb. 

“I promise you this isn’t a move. But can I crash at your place?” Isak finally asks as they round the corner.

“What?”

“I’m kind of sharing with Sebastian and I’m pretty sure I broke up with him earlier.”

“Shit.” 

“Yeah.” 

.

Even’s bad is comfortable and big. His sheets smell fresh and nice, as if they’ve just been washed. His room is tidy. 

He has a candle on his dresser. 

“Did you wash your sheets?” Isak asks. 

He’s wearing Even’s clothes. He’s drowning in Even’s scent. 

“Earlier today. Yeah.” He sounds embarrassed and nervous. 

“Wash them often?” Isak presses. 

“Yes, Isak. I’m not gross.”

“Damn okay.” Isak snorts. 

“Fine. I washed them just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

“Just in case you came over.”

Isak is satisfied with the answer. “Didn’t want me to sleep on your smelly sheets?” He teases. 

Even picks up his pillow and throws it on Isak’s face. 

They laugh. 

Even rolls them a “major event” joint. 

Isak knows they won’t be sleeping, but he doesn’t wish to perturb Even’s routine. 

“We should sleep.” 

“But then you’ll be gone in the morning.” 

Isak holds Even’s hand. Even intertwines their fingers. 

“Would you forget me?” he asks. “If you had the choice. If you could manipulate your memories and erase me. Would you?” 

In Even’s short film, the protagonist erased memories of a traumatic event in her childhood to move forward in life, but ended up altering her entire personality. 

“Only if we could do it together,” says Isak.

He’s been thinking about it since the screen faded to black. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I only want to forget you if it means you’ll forget me too.”

“Sounds like ‘the Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.” Even smiles. 

“What?” 

“It’s a film. The two main characters erase each other from their memories after their petty break-up, so they can move on. But they just end up meeting again the next day and starting over. Kind of like an infinite loop.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” says Isak. 

“Not really. Because even if they meet and start over, they still drive each other crazy every time. The reasons they didn’t work out didn’t disappear like their memories did. They just repeat the same mistakes over and over again.”

“Nietzche.” 

“Yes! They quote him in the movie. Something about how forgetting is bliss.”

_ Blessed are the forgetful.  _

“I don’t like Nietzche’s shit,” says Isak, as he takes a drag.

“Ooh, edgy.” 

“I don’t like the idea that we’re destined to always end up exactly like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that in another universe, I didn’t lie to Lea to come to Oslo and you didn’t call your mother that night,” says Isak. 

“Oh.”

“In another universe, I didn’t get shitfaced and I just hung out with Eskild and watched Love Actually that night. In another universe, Sonja took you home and you went to your therapist in the morning.” 

“In another universe, I just adjusted my dosage instead of self-destructing because I couldn’t finish my last year of high school. In another universe, I just enrolled in Nissen to repeat my third year and lived a normal life.”

“Nissen.” Isak repeats. He smiles. 

“Yeah. Why?” 

“I went to Nissen.”

“I know. Elias told me.”

“You were going to enroll in Nissen?” 

“Yes.” Even smiles.

“We were going to meet.” 

Even nods. “We always meet.” 

“In every universe,” Isak says and he feels stupid tears in his eyes. 

“Yeah.”

“This universe just happens to be the shittiest one right now.” 

Even laughs. “Yeah.”

“How much?” Isak places his hand on Even’s heart.

“Thirty nine percent.” 

* * *

**Even (darkest timeline)**

You know when you wake up and you have no fucking clue who you are and what year it is? 

yea?

That fraction of a second of bliss

It’s usually pretty terrifying if you ask me

Is it? Isn’t it blissful for a second? For a second, you’re like a newborn 

Lol   
What is this about?

this morning when i woke up with you in my bed, i didn’t know who i was, but i knew you.

Oh

First thought. Best thought.

12%

Where did the other 27% go?

I don’t know    
The power of Rihanna   
<3

* * *

Isak graduates. Even shows up with a stupid bouquet and hides behind Eskild when he sees Marianne in the crowd. 

Marianne looks at Even for a beat too long, and Isak worries she’s recognized him. But she doesn’t. 

Instead she just leans in and whispers in Isak’s ear. “He’s so handsome.”

“Mom!” he yelps. 

.

“She says you’re handsome.” Isak tells Even later. 

Even looks like he’s about to cry. “Does she know who I am?”

“No.” Isak shakes his head. He doesn’t think she could bear to. She doesn’t need to. She doesn’t have to. “But I told her you’re my friend.”

“Your friend.” Even smiles. “I like that.”

“I like that, too.” Isak says and he means it. “Thank you for the flowers.”

“Thank you for the everything.” 

“What does that even mean?” Isak snorts.

“I don’t know. Thanks for inviting me to your major life event.”

“You’re welcome.” Isak smiles.

“Can I hug you?”

“Are you sure?” 

Even hugs him. They hug for a long time. Isak closes his eyes, presses a kiss to the inside of his neck. Even kisses the palm of his hands. 

.

“Okay, so what’s up with you and Even?” Eskild asks. He’s in his intervention attire. Isak can’t wait to roll his eyes for the next two hours.

“Nothing is up with Even and me.”

“Uhm, excuse me? That did not look like nothing.”

“Ugh fine. Whatever.” Isak rolls his eyes. “We’re friends.”

“You’re not friends.”

“We’re friends who love each other a lot.” Isak offers.

“No. You and I are friends who love each other a lot. You and Jonas are friends who love each other a lot. You two are like in love.” 

“It’s complicated.” 

“Why?”

“Because we’re linked by this tragic event that will never stop hurting.” 

“Things hurt sometimes. But you can get past it.” 

“I don’t want him to be in pain every time he sees me.” 

“I don’t think he is, Isak. He looks very very happy when he sees you. And so do you.” 

“We only see each other every once in a while. That’s why you don’t see it. And it’s fine like this, because then there’s no time to think about the shitty things.” 

“But you’re moving back to Oslo. And so is he. You’ll be seeing more of each other now. Don’t you think you should figure it out before then?” Eskild insists. 

“I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it.” 

“Do you hook up?”

“No!” Isak scoffs. “No, that would be really fucked up. Right?” 

“But you want to?” Eskild asks carefully. “You want to hook up with him?”

“I just-” Isak lets his head fall into his hands. “I just want to hug him. And be with him. And kiss him.” 

He can’t believe he’s spilling his guts to Eskild like this. “I just love him.”

“Oh honey.” 

“But then I think about Lea. And I feel awful. So awful.” 

Eskild hugs him. “She wouldn’t want you to. You know?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does, Isak.”

“The other day, I watched the Hunger Games and I was so upset, Eskild! So fucking upset at a fucking movie.”

“What are you talking about? Oh my god, are you talking about Katniss and her sister?”

“Yes! And I was upset, because it really hurt and because I thought about Even watching it. If Even watches it, he won’t talk to me for months. I just know it. And it’s so unfair. It’s so fucking unfair that I worry about Even when I should be worrying about my own sister dying.” 

“Oh, Isak…”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s better like this. Time can’t heal everything, you know?”

.

Except that maybe it does. 

The first time Isak realizes that he no longer associates Even with his sister’s death, he’s sitting at a twenty person table in a crowded restaurant. 

He’s moved back to Oslo about a year ago. 

It’s Eva’s birthday. Even is sitting to his right, Vilde to his left. 

He can’t quite believe they’ve evolved to this point in space and time. 

Chris Berg is interrogating Even about his time being Sonja’s Youtube editor, and Even is telling story after story and making all the girls hold onto their stomachs with laughter. It’s all lovely. So nice and lovely. 

Isak can’t stop staring at him. He might be smiling, too. 

He’s missed his friends. It’s been a while since they’ve all gathered like this. But he missed Even a bit more. 

“What?” Even asks him quietly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What’s your number?”

Even laughs. “Are you drunk already?” 

“No. Give me a number.”

“Three percent,” Even says immediately, picking up the seriousness of the question from Isak’s tone. 

“A single digit.” 

“Yes. And you?” 

“Zero. I’m at zero.” 

"Oh." Even stares at him for long, so long. “Really?”

“Really.”

“When you see me rounding a corner, what’s your first thought?” 

_ “God, he’s so fucking hot.” _ Isak says instantly.

Even snorts. “And your second thought?”

_ “God, I love this man.” _

Even brings a hand to his own face. But he’s smiling. Oh, he’s smiling. 

“And I’m the embarrassing one in this relationship?”

“No, it’s me. It’s always been me.” Isak laughs, too. “Surprise, motherfucker.” 

“God, why do I love this man?” Even laments.

“Do you?” Isak asks.

“Love of my life, you are.”

“This is a restaurant, sir.” Isak teases.

“Full circle. I’m telling you.”

Even brings his hand to Isak’s, links their fingers over his thigh. 

The rest of the world? Forgotten. 

_ Blessed are the forgetful.  _

“This universe doesn’t have to be the darkest.”

“We’re not Romeo and Juliet, are we?” says Isak.

“No. We’re more like Edward and Vivian.”

“The vampire crap? What the hell?” Isak frowns.

“You’re thinking about Twilight, baby. I’m talking about Pretty Woman.” 

“I’m not watching that.” 

“I will make you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.”

.

Later, when they’re lying in Isak’s room, with the purple curtains drawn, the fresh sheets hugging his mattress, Isak thinks about tomorrow. 

“You’re still at three percent,” he says. 

“I’ve been at zero percent since the night you made that shitty bar scream _ ‘We found love in Lillehammer” _ . 

“You said you were at twelve.” 

“I’m not very good at math, Isak.” 

Isak smiles. 

“But what if it starts to hurt again?” he asks, because he has to. 

“Then we’ll talk about it,” says Even. 

“What if we have awful days?”

“We’ll work through it.”

“What if we need a break?”

“We’ll take it.”

“And after that?”

“We’ll laugh about it,” Even says, sealing it with a kiss to Isak’s forehead. “Any other questions?” 

Isak thinks. 

“Where will you be in the morning?”

“Right here in your bed.”

“And the day after that?” 

“Right here in your bed.” 

.

Even stays the night.

And the night after that.

And the night after that.

_. _ _   
_ _ [The end] _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: references to SAs, unreliable narrator, self-loathing, death (non major character), vague spoilers to eternal sunshine of the spotless mind and hunger games. 
> 
> oh well. finally posting this. i'm nervous because i don't think anyone cares anymore but it's been on my mind for so long  
> i feel sad but happy i finally completed something - can't believe i finished BFYT over a year ago!!.
> 
> this is probably my last time here. but thank you all for everything, and thank you to the anons on tumblr for always encouraging me and asking me for updates <3
> 
> thank you for the serotonin!! <3


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